


Beneath the lie

by Alois_D



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Fake Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post/ Alternate season 3, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 121,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alois_D/pseuds/Alois_D
Summary: Brian Kinney’s life wasn’t supposed to end so soon, but on that fateful night, everything changed in a split second.





	1. The night Brian Kinney disappears

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is not a death fic, although it’s dark, angsty, and suspenseful - with a large dose of romance as well as a sprinkling of humor. And, oh yes, did I say it’s dark? Read at your own peril!
> 
> * This fic simply wouldn't exist without Karynn, aka eureka1. She's been essential ever since I started working on this, and is making my writing so much better. Most of all, she is an amazing person. I love you, dear half brain *

**_BENEATH THE LIE - CHAPTER 1_ **

**_October 2003, 10:07 p.m, underground parking lot_ **

Brian is leaning against the railing of the elevator, waiting for the lift to complete its descent. He lets out his breath when a ping sounds, indicating he has reached his destination. The doors open then, slowly, revealing an eerie emptiness. He doesn’t move at first, hesitating while the quiet permeates his mind.

Only a few cars are parked here. Brian walks out. It’s noisy, his steps hitting the pavement, echoing in the parking lot. It makes him feel more aware of his own mortality somehow.

Someone is waiting for him near the Vette. Brian recognizes _him_ , but he doesn’t understand what he is doing here. He can’t see his face. He can only see his back, although the muffled cries escaping the man immediately tell him that something is seriously wrong.

A chill travels down his spine. It’s the kind of insidious chill he has never felt before in this man’s presence, one that he never thought he would ever experience.

The man turns around. His eyes are glassy, filled with tears. His face is ugly, hardened by sorrow, incomprehension, and desperation. His hands shake violently. His left one is clutching a cellphone, hard. He keeps looking at it furtively, then back at Brian, again and again.

He whispers Brian’s name, or he tries to because the brunet doesn’t recognize his voice. Hell, this man has never held a gun in his entire life. And yet, here he is, just a marionette, facing Brian with this cold, metal tool which seems too heavy for him to carry.

The sobs begin. The man’s shoulders are rising and falling with every attempt to breathe. His face is a mess.

Brian walks closer, slowly raising his hand and snatching the phone. The man allows him to take it, letting out another sob as Brian’s skin grazes his fingers. The brunet peers down at the images flashing on the screen, at the words, instinctively understanding he is the main puppet in this orchestrated show. A puppet who has been played masterfully and whose grand exit has been written ever since that night in Jim’s office.

He is screwed. They’re both fucked, one condemned to die, while the other will live with the burden of the kill.

In other words, neither man will survive the night.

**_***_ **

**_A couple of weeks earlier…_ **

It all begins with Jason Kemp’s death. Well, that, and the fact that Brian witnesses something he shouldn't have.

The night he walks into the building to deliver the latest campaign video to Jim, Brian heads to the stairs, hoping for a quick meeting before going to Woody’s to meet the guys. Ever since Justin left him for that fucking fiddler, Brian has busied himself with working and fucking. Sometimes, he stays home at night, but it has taken him a while to accustom himself to the quietness again. He is still struggling to get there, but it’s not like he has any other choice.

Justin seems to be fine without him. He is working at the diner, has made peace with Michael, is still attending PIFA, and his romance with the fiddler is still on. Brian is sure it won’t last, but he also knows Justin needed something he couldn't give him. So what if Brian misses him? As long as Justin is happy, it doesn't really matter.

What matters is helping Stockwell get elected. That’s why he is here, but as he reaches the second floor and walks toward Jim’s office, he pauses in front of the door. The blinds on the windows have been closed, a dim light slightly shining through the slats, and the door is ajar. Brian is about to knock when he hears a voice he doesn't recognize.

“...owe me. You know that, Jim.”

“I do.” Jim responds, and Brian frowns at the nervousness in the police chief’s voice.

Conversely, the other man’s tone is very calm as he demands, “Take care of this for me.”

“Of course.” Jim agrees forcibly. “You have a picture?”

“Here,” the man answers, presumably handing over the requested photo.

“His name?” Jim inquires.

“Jason Kemp,” the voice grinds out.

Brian hears the sound of paper rustling. He isn’t sure what is going on, but although it is none of his business, he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. He is pondering what to do when the door suddenly opens, and a man he has never seen appears in front of him.

The guy, who is probably in his fifties, is elegantly dressed in black jeans, black dress shoes, a long trench coat, an emerald green silk scarf, and a black fedora. He is good-looking, with blue eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, his slightly overlong, thick brown hair combed back, the kind of person your eyes linger on, his charisma undeniable. And yet, Brian feels strangely uncomfortable in his presence.

“Hello,” The man greets him, his tone almost amused, although Brian notices an indefinable gleam in his eyes. He feels a shiver running down his spine under his scrutinizing stare.

“I’m here to see Jim,” Brian eventually declares, glancing at Stockwell.

“He’s all yours,” the man drawls, before brushing past Brian slowly, still staring at him intently as he intones, “Jim. I will see you soon.”

Stockwell doesn’t respond. Brian keeps watching as the man smiles at him, walks to the stairs, and disappears.

***

A few days after that encounter, Stockwell fires Brian, pretending that at this critical point of his campaign, Brian’s ideas aren’t sufficient anymore. Brian knows this is a bullshit excuse, but he can’t do anything to force Stockwell to keep him on his team.

When a dead hustler is found in a dumpster behind the diner a week later, Brian doesn’t have much of a reaction. He is sorry for the guy, but shit happens every day, right? Debbie, though, is quite shaken and harasses the detective in charge of the investigation to find out the boy’s name.

That’s when the shit really hits the fan.

The next Tuesday, in the late afternoon, Brian walks into the diner and goes to a booth where he can be by himself. Justin is here, clearing away the dishes from a table. Their eyes lock and he still can feel it, this thrill his former lover made him feel. In these moments, Brian knows that Justin still has unresolved feelings for him, too. Sometimes, that knowledge makes him feel better, but today, it hurts.

“You okay?” Justin inquires as he approaches him, his tray full of food customers didn’t finish eating.

“I’m brilliant,” Brian intones, a false smile on his face. When Justin merely raises his eyebrows in response, the brunet sighs, admitting, “Stockwell fired my ass.”

“So I’ve heard,” Justin nods as he puts his tray on the table momentarily, and Brian is surprised the blond doesn’t patronize him, like all his other friends. “You’re better off.”

“Hmm…” Brian vaguely answers, before demanding, “Can you bring me a cup of coffee?

“Sure,” Justin replies, and Brian can’t help but notice that the blond seems a little off, almost sad.

“Why the same outfit?” Brian inquires.

“Huh?” Justin frowns, before looking down at his red sweater.

“You wore the same outstanding ensemble yesterday.” Brian clarifies, smirking.

“None of your business,” Justin dismisses him. He picks up the tray, although his eyes don’t leave Brian’s.

The brunet gives him a pointed stare, prompting Justin to shake his head, before walking to the kitchen to deposit the dishes and then bring Brian his coffee.

Twenty minutes later, Brian stands up, drops a twenty on the table, and heads to the door. As he walks past the wall where Debbie has tacked the hustler’s picture, though, he slows down, noticing the boy’s name for the first time.

_In loving memory of Jason Kemp._

It takes Brian a few seconds to comprehend what he is looking at. He’s already heard that name and as he remembers where, he feels his heart thumping in his chest. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

At first, Brian doesn’t want to believe it. No way could Stockwell be a part of a murder. The man might be a lot of things, but a murderer? There must be another explanation.

But as much as Brian wants to find one, he can’t. Maybe he is wrong and he truly has seen too many bad movies. But maybe he’s right. It doesn’t make any sense either way.

He must have cursed, because he hears Debbie calling his name. Turning around, his gaze falls on Justin, who is frowning at him. Brian swallows, before refocusing his attention on his surrogate mother. “Not now, Debbie,” he barks, refusing to explain himself and storming out of the diner.

Once on the sidewalk, he stops. What is he going to do? He could confront Stockwell, but even he knows it’s not a good idea. The only thing he can do is talk to the detective. So, he goes to his car, slides behind the steering wheel, and turns on the Vette.

When he arrives, he parks on the street and enters the precinct. The place is quieter than he has imagined. He asks at reception to speak to Detective Horvath, but the young cop makes him wait for fifteen minutes before calling his name, indicating the door behind him, barely mumbling “In the back.”

Carl Horvath seems surprised to see him. Brian talked to the detective once, the day Jason Kemp was found in the dumpster. When Brian informs him now that he has information linking Stockwell and another man to the murder of Jason Kemp, Horvath doesn’t seem all that pleased for some reason.

“Have you told anyone about this?” Horvath questions, his face somber.

“No,” Brian discloses, not at all liking the detective’s reaction. The man seems nervous.

“Come with me,” Horvath demands, not waiting for Brian’s answer before he walks out of his office, after grabbing a folder from one of his secured drawers. They navigate their way down a long corridor and enter a small elevator. Carl pulls a card from his pocket and uses it to start the machine, allowing it to descend to the next floor.

Ten minutes later, after having taken a seat in a small room that is secluded from prying eyes, and leafing through photos, Brian recognizes the man he saw in Jim’s office.

“It’s him,” he announces, pointing at the picture.

Horvath stares at the man Brian has identified. He seems bewildered.

“What is it?” Brian inquires anxiously.

Horvath turns to look at Brian. “Son… it seems you really have seen something you shouldn’t have.”

Brian really doesn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

“This guy…” Carl taps the picture on the table. “is Harry Malone. He is suspected of being a trafficker in stolen art and of being involved in other crimes, including murder. But his network is untouchable for now. Stockwell is suspected of being part of it, although we’re pretty sure he is just a patsy for Malone.”

“We?” Brian’s brow furrows.

“I’m working with the FBI on this case. As you may have guessed, it seems the Pittsburgh PD has been corrupted, too.” Carl reveals as he places the picture back on the table.

Brian shakes his head. He understands better now why they didn’t stay in the detective’s office. “You’re telling me this guy might be behind Stockwell’s election campaign for mayor? And that he probably killed a sixteen-year-old hustler?”

“Yes,” Carl answers gravely. “And if you’ve seen him with Stockwell, it means you’re in danger too.”

Brian peers at the floor and rubs his face nervously, feeling his blood run cold. He suddenly stands up, his back to Carl, and lets out a loud “Fuck!” before taking a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“Listen,” Carl draws his attention. “I’m calling Agent Bennett with the FBI. She will be here tonight, and we can come up with a plan to protect you. You will probably have to testify, though.”

“Marvelous,” Brian sardonically retorts.

“Brian?” Carl calls his name when the brunet still doesn’t look at him.

Brian finally turns around, and stares at the detective. “When?”

“Come back at 9 p.m. tonight, and we will work from here. I don’t trust anyone right now, so avoid the main floor.” Carl advises. He takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to Brian. “Here. This is a pass you can use for our private underground parking lot, so that you won’t have to enter through the front door to reach this floor. This room will be quieter and is totally secure. We’ll use this space to work on your testimony and review it as soon as Agent Bennett gets here, before deciding where to go from there.”

Brian nods, unable to speak. He gazes at Horvath.

“I’m sorry, Son,” Carl states, placing his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I really am.”

Brian doesn’t respond. He forces himself to move, and walks away.

***

**_The precinct, level  one, secure room, 9:50 p.m._ **

Brian rubs his eyes with his thumbs as he peers down at the piece of paper in his hands, one elbow on the table. He is tired, so fucking tired. His head is killing him as he reads, his eyes staring at the draft of his testimony which will be used to accuse his former client of being involved in a murder. Christ, he hates his life right now.

He doesn’t want to be in this position. When he decided to become involved with Stockwell a couple of months back, he only thought about his career, about the contacts he would gain. He was a single gay man; his lover had left him for the fucking fiddler; his best friend was playing the happy wife with his boyfriend; and he felt like he was suffocating. He hated feeling that way.

The truth is, heartbreak really sucks.

So, yes, when Stockwell came along, Brian didn’t think twice. He wowed him, became the adman for his campaign, and did a stellar job. Stockwell is now on his way to being elected the next mayor of Pittsburgh… if he doesn’t end up being accused of murder and spending a lot of time in jail.

Once he has finished perusing the statement, Brian places the paper down on the table, sighs, and stretches, trying to ease the tension filling him.

“Agent Bennett should be here in less than thirty minutes.” Carl announces.

Brian snorts. He wants to believe that it will be over soon, but he knows the truth. “My testimony will not be enough to take down a whole network the FBI has tried to entrap for years.”

“This is the first step. You’re doing the right thing.” Carl states as he leans forward and taps the page with his finger.

“For whom? You? The FBI?” Brian mocks, gazing up at the detective. “Because as far as I know, I could be shot dead if this psycho ever learns I talked to you, right?”

Carl has the decency not to respond.

“You know what?” Brian suddenly proclaims, shaking his head. “I need a break.”

“Bennett is about to arrive.” Carl reminds him. “We’re not finished here.”

“I know. I need a smoke, I’ll be right back,” Brian announces, standing up from his chair, not giving Horvath any time to respond before storming out the room, heading to the elevator.

Once inside, he realizes he can’t go outside if he doesn’t want anyone else to know he’s here. He pats his pockets nonetheless, irritated when he notices he left his Marlboros in his car. With a sigh, Brian presses the down arrow and waits for the lift to descend to the underground parking lot.

***

Brian closes his eyes and waits for the detonation. It finally comes, resonating in his ears. He doesn’t feel the bullet drilling into his skull, though. Or, maybe he does. It’s hard to grasp what is real and what is not when you’re dying.

He falls backward, onto the cold cement. Yes, it’s cold, almost icy. He hears a forlorn wail in the distance, or maybe it’s a voice. He can’t tell. Is it raining? It seems like it is. He feels a wetness on his temple as he slowly slips away, death washing over him with every rasping breath.

People are wrong, he realizes. He doesn’t see his life flashing before his eyes. He only sees Justin’s smile; Justin, who will hate him for dying. The thought should hurt him, but it doesn’t, because the pain fades, morphing, vanishing into sweet oblivion until only nothingness exists.

And Brian lies there, welcoming it all.

  



	2. The photograph

**_Six years later, Thursday, July 16th 2009…_ **

It’s a warm day today, too warm to be out walking in the sun on the bustling Philly sidewalks. So, Justin seeks out the shade provided by buildings and overhangs after he leaves Illusion, Inc. on Lombard Street, heading downtown.

He’s just had his first job interview, to work as a designer specializing in three-dimensional computer graphics. He is pretty satisfied with his exchange with the head of that department, but he also knows it’s hard to nail a job when you lack experience and recommendations.

But, yeah, he is satisfied. He also craves a drink. He talked for one-and-a-half hours, and now, in the ninety-eight degree weather, the first beads of sweat run along his spine, beneath the cream-colored shirt he paired with his three-hundred-dollar, navy linen suit.

He removes his suit jacket, draping it over his arm, and when he reaches a small cafe, he sits under an umbrella on the terrace, enjoying the cool air wafting from inside the eatery. The waiter - a young man wearing a white apron that reminds him of his busboy days - comes to take his order. Justin smiles at him and asks for a Coke and a glass of ice water.

The waiter leaves, and Justin finally relaxes, inhaling deeply. He is amazed, still feeling the high of his first job interview, because fuck, he’s come such a long way to get here, to hell and back.

Some days are harder than others, but the bad ones are few and far between of late. He still struggles with depressing thoughts sometimes. But his nature won’t allow him to dwell on the past, on what could have been. No regrets, that’s what his first lover always said, right?

Yeah, Brian and his fucking mantras. Justin really loved the man for believing in such bullshit. Some days, his fucking insistence on ‘no regrets’ actually does help him go through the motions, so it can’t be such a bad line after all.

Brian has been dead for six years. To be exact, it’s been five years, nine months, and eleven days.The police found his body on a deserted street on the twenty-ninth of October, in 2003. He had been shot by an unidentified man, who was, of course, never arrested.

The police also said Brian’s face was unrecognizable. Apparently, the damage caused by a bullet to the head can’t be cleaned up and magically repaired as in the movies.

Well, no shit that real life sucks, and not in a positive, life-affirming way, Justin muses, before snorting. With thoughts like that, it’s no wonder that Brian is still very much a part of his life.

The not knowing has haunted Justin for years. It still does. He’s had a hard time accepting it was just a random assault, that Brian died for no reason. But that’s still the official version, as far as he knows.

Accepting this has taken years. As fate would have it, Brian died the night he left Ethan, of all the bad timing. He received the call in the morning, as he was about to head to PIFA after having crashed on Daphne’s couch, already feeling like shit. Needless to say, that Wednesday, the twenty-ninth of October, was the worst day of his life.

He is not proud of himself, retrospectively. He barely made it to Brian’s funeral. If not for Debbie and his mother’s intervention, he wouldn’t have gone at all. But they came to kick his ass off of Daphne’s couch, helped him wash and dress himself, and made him feel even shittier, if possible.

“This is your chance to say goodbye, and if you don’t, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” His mother said, using that pitying tone he loathed. She didn’t even like Brian.

“Your mom is right, Honey.” Debbie interjected and, truthfully, Justin wanted to whine and yell that it was a stupid, petty thought to make them feel better about themselves, but then, Debbie started crying, cursing God of all people. So, he kept his mouth shut and went to the graveside ceremony.

He was surprised so many people came to the funeral. Brian’s mother and sister were there, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the middle of so many fags. Justin chuckled, knowing his former lover would have laughed his ass off at the sight, proclaiming that the looks on their faces were almost worth dying for.

In the end, Justin couldn’t even say goodbye properly, because real life sucked, and the coffin had been closed. He felt like a nineteen-year-old widower, consumed by pain and despair and sorrow and grief and anger - and he couldn’t even heap those emotions on the person who had murdered Brian. The only person he could blame for those fucking, suffocating feelings which wouldn’t leave him alone was Brian himself.

The guilt ate at him insidiously. They had broken up months before Brian’s murder, yet Justin couldn’t help but question what would have happened if he’d stayed, if he’d realized sooner that Brian did love him, in his own fucked-up way. Each day therefore became worse than the last, once Justin admitted that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

And so, the self-loathing party began.

He dropped out of school, because he couldn’t draw for shit. Instead, he drowned himself in booze and sex, started taking drugs, pills, any chemicals he could afford, which weren’t that many since his job as a waiter didn’t pay much. He managed to get fired from the diner, though, Debbie having no other choice but to let him go when he stopped showing up for his shifts, not caring about the redhead’s speeches promising better days ahead. And basically, he spent his time feeling sorry for himself when he wasn’t tweaked out of his mind. He still isn’t sure how Daphne put up with his shit at the time or how he avoided overdosing, since, being pretty much penniless, he couldn’t be picky about the shit he took.

After a while, though, he couldn’t bear his best friend’s pleas to get some help, so he moved in with a guy he had met at a party, and disappeared on her. Every person who tried to help him - Daphne, his mother, Debbie, even Lindsay - he shut them all down. By that time, Brian’s death wasn’t the reason for his behavior. He had become a real addict, craving his next fix and the feeling of oblivion that would course through his veins.

It lasted for months, until one morning, Ben found him passed out on a bench while he was out for his early jog.

“Justin?” he’d called the blond’s name multiple times, shaking his limp body, trying to wake up his foggy, messed-up brain.

“Go away…”, Justin tried to tell him to fuck off, pushing at him ineffectually, but Ben was much more muscular, so he forced the blond to move, taking him back to his house. Justin was in no condition to fend him off.

“You’re staying in our guest room,” Ben announced as soon as they’d entered his and Michael’s new home.

Justin winced, staring at the dark-colored walls, the blue, white, and red kitchen, the white railing leading up the stairs. “You can’t make me,” he pettily retorted, although as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out for an entire day. The first signs of withdrawal appeared as soon as he woke up, of course. But Ben didn’t let him leave, no matter how much Justin fought him. That was also the first time he saw Hunter, who was an HIV-positive former hustler. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t the only fucked-up person in that house calmed him down a bit, and anyway, he had no other choice but to stay, because Ben had the fucking nerve to mention Brian.

“He might be gone, but I’m sure he would have a fit if he saw you like this.”  Ben declared that evening, pushing a plate of scrambled egg whites and toast right under his nose.

“Brian is dead!” Justin emphasized forcibly. “It’s not like he can lecture me now that he is six feet under, can he?”

“Don’t be cruel, Justin. He may not have told you that with words, but he truly cared about you and he surely deserves better than this.” Ben patronized him, before ordering, “Now eat. I won’t take no for an answer.”

That’s when Justin’s stomach started to heave. He barely made it to the toilet in time. He was sick for two days, fighting his own body. The only thing he was grateful for was that Ben didn’t call anyone else. Not his mom, not Debbie, not even Michael was anywhere to be seen. Until the third day, at least.

He will always be grateful for Michael. His angry words stung deeply at the time, but Justin isn’t sure he would have succeeded in getting his shit together without him. Michael was so furious to see he’d become an addict. In his defense, the brunet had taken Brian’s death pretty hard, maybe as hard as Justin. The man had suffered a breakdown and had never been quite his old self after his best friend was killed. But seeing Justin had sunk so low had truly enraged him for some reason.

“How can you do that to _him_ ?” he’d shouted. “How can you throw away everything you’ve fought for, when Brian’s life, his dreams, even _you_ , have been stolen away from him? You think his death allows you to fuck everything up? That you can kill yourself with that shit? Huh? You pathetic, narcissistic, little asshole! You better get your shit together, or I swear to God, I will hunt you down and fucking kill you myself!”

Yeah. It had stung, like really, really stung. Michael has always been a little irrational where Justin is concerned. But bottom line is, Michael’s outburst worked, even though Justin isn’t sure exactly why, since the ‘Brian would so have your ass’ argument had been used and overused before, without any noticeable results. Maybe it’s because the man truly loved Brian, and understood Justin’s feelings better than anyone.

“You’re using the money he left you, okay?” Michael declared one day in late 2004, after Justin had come back from rehab. He’d discovered a short time ago that Brian had left him some money to finish school and to start his own life. Of course Brian would do that, and make sure everything was in order in case anything happened to him.

“Yeah…” Justin nodded. “New life. New school. New city. I’m starting over.”

“Good,” Michael encouraged. “And you’d better keep in touch. If you don’t, you know Ma will turn up on your doorstep to rip you a new one.”

“As if she’d be the only one,” Justin chuckled as he bumped his shoulder against Michael’s. Looking at Ben and Hunter, Justin stated bashfully, “I will miss you guys.”

“I won’t,” Hunter countered, earning a slap on the head from Michael. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“Why do you think?” Ben asked.

“I don’t even know him,” Hunter scolded, giving them his best duh-face.

“Watch your mouth,” Michael chided.

“My mouth is fine. I’m not sucking any old cock anymore, remember? What more do you want?” Hunter bravely snarked, before storming off to the kitchen, where he chugged directly from a milk carton.

“Use a glass, damn it!” Michael chastised his foster son as he chased after him, snatching the carton out of his hands.

Ben chuckled as he eyed them, an amused smile on his lips, “Michael was meant to be a dad, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Justin responded, happy to see that Michael would be alright.

He left for Philadelphia the next day. He started a new life, going back to school, although he pretty much gave up on painting and drawing, focusing instead on getting a degree in graphic design. He’s made friends, though he has never connected much with anyone here. He’s had sex with random men, and even dated a couple of guys for a while, but so far, hasn’t fallen in love again.

He rarely visits the Pitts, but he calls a lot. He even bonded with Ted - of all people - ringing him anytime he feels in any danger of a relapse. He talks to Lindsay and Melanie, and started a correspondence with Gus a couple of years ago. They don’t write much, but they draw cartoons, with notes about what they’ve been up to, anything they want to share. Sometimes, Gus calls just to say hi, and Justin ends up talking for both of them, the kid being too shy to really say much.

His life is not so bad, overall. It could be better, but it also could be a lot worse. Thinking about Brian still hurts, though. Justin suspects it always will, that his resentment against the rulers of this fucked-up universe will never truly disappear.

His phone suddenly rings, bringing him out of his musings. He peers at the caller ID before picking up, “Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetheart,” Jennifer greets him. She seems to be walking down the street, a little out of breath. “Is it as hot in Philly as it is in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Justin concurs. “I’m literally dying here.”

“Hmm,” Jennifer half listens. “So, tell me! How was your interview?”

“It went fine, Mom,” Justin responds, taking a sip from his Coke. “I mean, the head of the graphics department seemed pleased, but you know how it is. I won’t know if I’m hired, not for a couple of weeks anyway.”

“Well, you graduated barely a month ago. I’m sure if this doesn’t work out, you'll have other opportunities.” Jennifer encourages him. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even consider coming back here?”

“Mom…” Justin states her name accusingly. “You know I don’t want to return to the Pitts.”

“I know, but it’s been years now, and…”

“I’ll visit you soon, okay?” Justin cuts her off, not wanting to begin another debate about his decision to stay away from his hometown. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Jennifer relents. “Love you…”

“Love you too,” Justin answers, before disconnecting the call. He lets out a sigh. He knows his mother’s biggest dream is to have her son near her, but even though he has truly moved on with his life, he still wouldn’t want to go back. He should suggest that she move here instead, and he probably will, as soon as Molly heads off to college. Until then, it’s too much for his mom to consider.

Dismissing the thought, Justin finishes his Coke. He picks up his phone, but then he notices the man who was sitting at the table next to his an instant ago walking away, leaving a glossy magazine behind. “Mister, wait!” Justin shouts as he stands hastily, intending to return the item to its owner, but when he looks up after grabbing the magazine, the man has disappeared among all the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Frowning, Justin keeps staring into the crowd for a moment longer before going back to his table. He sits back down and gazes at the article on the open page. His brow furrows, as he realizes this is an edition of PleinAir, an art magazine he used to read when he was younger.

The article features an annual, national photography exhibition that took place in Lakevallée a couple of weeks ago, at which many prominent artists unveiled their latest work. Justin has never heard of this event before, even though the name of the city is vaguely familiar. Perusing the write-up, Justin remembers that Lakevallée is in Montana, located near a huge lake and basically lost in the middle of nowhere. The images of the small, isolated town are truly stunning, though.

There are pictures of a few people gathered together for the exhibition as well as some of the photographs displayed at the event. Noticing the caption, Justin reads names he doesn’t know, all professional photographers.

His eyes fall upon one in particular. Four people are posing at the front, smiling, but Justin doesn’t care about them, because all he can see is _him_.

The man looking away at the back of the picture.

A grey, Ascot-style cap is pulled down low on his forehead. He is tall, lean, dressed casually in a faded pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Justin can’t really discern his face, although he can see glasses as well as a beard.

And for a second, even though it’s impossible, he could swear this is a man who died years ago.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Justin says out loud as he keeps staring at the picture.

It can’t be Brian. Brian is dead, killed by a fucking psycho who was never caught. And yet, Justin never had the chance to get closure. Is that why he wants to see something that can’t be real?

“Stop,” he breathes out, closing the magazine in frustration, throwing it back on the table, and squeezing his eyes shut, wincing at the pain he feels right now. “Just stop,” he repeats, trying to calm himself. Refusing to believe for one more second in this nonsense, he stands up, pulls a ten-dollar bill from the front pocket of his pants, and tosses it on the table, next to the magazine.

He wants to move then, but he can’t as his eyes land once more on that picture.

“Shit…” he curses as he picks it up from the table before walking away.

***

He can’t sleep that night. He knows he is being irrational, and he tries to shut down his brain, but he fails. He realizes it’s pointless, that the man in the picture has simply made him remember Brian, that he shouldn’t dwell on it any longer. He should just forget he ever saw that article and move on.

Yes, he should. And yet, the first thing he does after he gets up at five in the morning is sit at his computer and search for information on the Internet. He visits the gallery’s website, although he doesn’t find anything related to the man, since he doesn’t even know his name. After a couple of hours, he shuts his laptop, angry at himself for acting so stupid, and tries to go back to sleep.

He nods on and off for the next three hours. When he wakes up, he takes a shower and decides to go out. He walks aimlessly around Philly for a couple of hours, but it doesn’t cure his restlessness. By the time he ends up in a crappy bar downtown, he wants nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, but he can’t. So, he orders a beer, rolling the bottle between the palms of his hands for a minute, before picking up his phone and dialing Theodore.

“You okay?” the man answers as he picks up the phone. Justin almost wants to smile at his friend’s concern, but he is feeling too agitated for that.

“I’m at a bar,” Justin intones sardonically.

“Oh…” Ted eloquently responds. “That bad?”

“You ever think that we're really fucked up?” Justin ignores his question. “That… fuck, I don’t know,”

“Justin, what's going on?” Ted inquires, going straight to the point.

“It’s just… one of those days when I’m fucking angry at him for dying, and I want to take something, but I can't and it makes me even more pissed off at the whole fucking world.” Justin reveals, resentfully.

“Well, that's why you have me, so that you remember that getting wasted or high won’t make you feel better,” Ted reminds him firmly.

“I know,” Justin breathes out. “I’m sorry, I just… sometimes I think I’m going crazy, you know?”

“You miss him. It's human. We all miss him.” Ted commiserates. “But remember what Ben always says. ‘Forgetting by shutting down your thoughts is a human mechanism to prevent you from dealing with your pain, when real strength comes from allowing yourself to explore your feelings without losing yourself.’”

“Ben and his Buddhist bullshit…” Justin counters, but there is no malice in his words. Ted is right. No matter what, he can’t let his pain fuck everything up. He’s worked so hard to put his life back on track that it would be insane to fall prey to his old demons, just because he saw a photo of someone who vaguely reminds him of Brian.

“I will tell him you were pleased with his words of wisdom,” Ted quips.

“You do that,” Justin drily retorts. “Thanks Ted.”

“Anytime,” Ted sincerely replies. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“Will do. Tell Blake hi for me,” Justin bids him goodbye and disconnects the call.

He feels a little better after that, convincing himself that he just needs to rest more. He exits the bar and heads back home, where he spends the rest of the day eating junk food while watching a rerun of Supernatural on CW. He finally passes out on his couch at eleven.

He dreams of Brian making love to him after the bashing; he is lying on his right side as his lover pushes into him, the bloody scarf forgotten by the bed. By the time he wakes up, he is crying.

So he does the most stupid thing in his life, impulsively booking an airline ticket and a car to drive to Lakevallée from the airport.

He considers calling Daphne to make sure one person knows he is going away, but his best friend would see right through him and demand answers, answers he can’t give her, since he has no idea why he is going to Lakevallée in the first place. So, he calls his mother instead. It’s barely eight, but he knows she is working and therefore will already be up.

“Justin?” she answers after the second ring, surprised to hear from her son so early in the morning and so soon after their last call.

“Hey, Mom,” Justin greets her as nonchalantly as possible.

“Everything okay?” she immediately questions.

“Um, yeah…” Justin replies hesitantly. He doesn’t say much after that, though. Truthfully, now that he has her on the phone, he feels foolish. He knows he can’t confide in her, or she will try to dissuade him, to convince him he is going on this trip only because he is still grieving, almost six years later.

Hell, even he knows he is out of his mind to plan a trip merely because of a guy he doesn’t even know.

“Uh, Justin…” Jennifer reminds him she’s there. “Why are you calling?”

Justin clears his throat. “I…” He tries to come up with something but he truly has no idea what to say.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jennifer inquires, the concern now evident in her voice.

“I’m going on a trip,” Justin suddenly blurts out. “I read an article in PleinAir yesterday and… it made me want to try and rediscover my inspiration to paint.” It’s complete bullshit, but it’s the only thing he can think of right now.

“Oh… okay?” Jennifer seems genuinely surprised, and Justin can’t blame her. It’s been years since he touched a paintbrush. “Are you sure this is the right time to do that, though? I mean, I’d love for you to paint again, but with your interview and-”

“Illusion, Inc. won’t contact me for a least a couple of weeks. I don’t want to just wait, doing nothing in the meantime,” Justin cuts her off, the lie easily slipping from his lips, “I really want to paint again.”

“If you’re sure, then...” Jennifer pauses. “You have everything you need for that trip to...?”

“Lakevallée. And yeah. I’ve got it covered, don’t worry,” Justin reassures her. “I just wanted to warn you that I may be unavailable for the next week.”

“When are you leaving?” Jennifer inquires.

“This afternoon.” Justin informs her. “Speaking of which, I really need to pack. I’ll text you when I arrive, okay?”

“Okay,” Jennifer agrees. She seems quite puzzled by her son’s plan, but Justin is grateful she doesn’t voice her misgivings, simply stating instead, “Be safe. I love you.”

“I will. Love you too.” Justin responds as usual, before hanging up, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

A couple of hours later, he locks the door to his apartment and takes a cab to the airport, the magazine safely tucked into his duffle bag.  
  



	3. Lakevallée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter indroduces the real settling of this story, as well as multiple characters.

**_Pittsburgh, Friday, July 17th, 2009, 7:15 p.m_ **

It’s always the same ritual. Every Friday, Carl enters the Liberty Diner and heads toward the gleaming counter at precisely seven-fifteen. He plops down on the first green stool, looking around to make sure Debbie is here. Then, he pretends to peruse the menu located above the shelves with tableware and condiments - even though he knows it by heart - and orders a burger or some kind of chops. 

It’s been five years since he began showing up every week. At first, he did it out of guilt, but now he genuinely enjoys being here. 

“If it isn’t Mr. Detective.” Debbie appears, greeting him cheerfully as she peers toward clock in the kitchen. “Seven-fifteen. Right on time!”

“You know I wouldn’t miss my weekly dose of bizarreness for anything,” Carl quips with a bashful smile. 

“In my diner, Horvath, you’re the weirdness. Not them,” she nods at a couple of trannies sitting behind Carl, before inquiring, “What can I get you tonight? No. Let me guess.” She looks at him for a few seconds, before enunciating, “You seem to be in the mood for the lamb chops.”

“And you’re way too perceptive for your own good,” Carl wryly acknowledges.

“Reading people might be required to succeed in your profession, but I assure you nobody can beat a waitress working in a queer diner that’s open twenty-four hours a day,” Debbie ripostes as she cleans the counter before placing a disposable placemat, cutlery, a napkin, and a cup in front of the detective.

The ringing of the bell from the kitchen informs Debbie an order is ready to be served, interrupting their exchange, so Carl opens his newspaper and begins to read. He is still reading when Deb comes back to serve him coffee, setting the plate full of food on top of the newspaper. 

“You eat while it’s hot,” she tells him before rushing to deliver another order. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Carl stares at his plate, picking up his fork and knife, poking at the chops before plunging the cutlery into it and eating a mouthful.

As he chews and swallows the third bite, he looks up at Debbie. She is pouring a cup of coffee, and he wonders once again how differently things might have turned out if Brian Kinney hadn’t come to see him that day. He’s had a crush on the waitress for years but has never asked her out once, because he doesn’t feel comfortable doing that.

Every time Brian is mentioned while he’s here - which happens from time to time when Debbie’s son and his friends stop by - Carl feels an irresistible urge to tell them the truth, especially Debbie. But his only way of making amends to Kinney is to ensure his friends are okay and moving on with their lives, definitely not by wooing his surrogate mother or revealing secrets.

So, instead, he sits here and keeps his mouth shut.

***

An hour later, Carl is on his way home when his phone rings. He pulls it out of his trench coat pocket, surprised to see Agent Bennett’s name shining from the screen. “Hey Jacquie,” he greets her, hoping to hear some good news for a change. 

He’s been working with Bennett for years now, ever since he started investigating Stockwell back in 2003. They’ve been trying to connect Malone and Stockwell to Brian’s murder but have failed so far. To make things worse, Stockwell died from a heart attack not long after being elected mayor in November 2003. Carl has always believed that his death wasn’t as random as it seemed, especially since at the time, Stockwell was getting really agitated about the Jason Kemp case - an anonymous article having been released to the press which accused the former chief of police of being complicit in his murder. It was too much of a coincidence that Stockwell died the same day he had called Carl, informing him that he wanted to meet to talk about the hustler’s death. Unfortunately, he took whatever he wanted to share to the grave.

After that fiasco, FBI Special Agent Gavin Allen was placed in charge of Malone’s investigation, with Agent Bennett assisting him. They had a break on the case a couple of weeks ago, when a witness called the FBI to say he had information that could help them convict Malone. So Carl is hopeful that they finally have a real lead on the case.

“Hey Carl,” Jacquie Bennett responds. Carl can easily imagine the Afro-American woman sitting at her desk as she calls, since she is one of those dedicated individuals who lives for their job and is always working. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” Carl agrees. “I take it this is not a social call? Your witness has agreed to cooperate?”

“Not exactly,” Jacquie sighs. “Agent Allen is still trying to convince him to testify against Malone, but no luck so far.”

“Don’t tell me,” Carl grumbled. “The witness suddenly doesn’t remember ever seeing Malone at the crime scene.”

“Even worse,” Jacquie counters, “he claims he never saw Malone before in his life, and is now pointing the finger at a buffoon who likes to play at being a bad guy but who is really another of Malone’s patsies. Probably someone he wants to get rid off for whatever reason.”

“You mean, Malone sent that witness?” Carl asks, bewildered.

“Who else? By testifying, this guy is giving Malone exactly what he wants - having us hare off on a wild goose chase.” Jacquie states, before clarifying, “If Gavin and I don’t investigate the lead, we will be officially reprimanded for ignoring evidence. And in the meantime, Malone can comfortably build his defense. Plus, his lawyer wants to get us fired, so what do you think he will do if we show up at Malone’s place and accuse him of selling forgeries?”

“But it’s obstruction of justice,” Carl fumes. He can’t believe this break has led to yet another dead end. “Malone can’t keep getting away with everything. It’s as if nothing can touch him! He must have made a mistake at some point. There has to be a former cohort who has an ax to grind and would be willing to turn state’s witness. Why can’t we find that person?” 

“He’s smart, Carl.” Jacquie reminds him. “He always covers his tracks, and you can bet that no one wants him as an enemy.” 

“Yes, but it’s like he’s always one step ahead of us.” Carl points out. “Like…”

“Like what? You think there’s a mole on our team?” Jacquie inquires incredulously, surmising Carl has reached that conclusion.

“I…” Carl hesitates. Could they have a mole? Or is he just too involved to see things clearly? “I don’t know. I… I’m just so frustrated with this whole case, Jacquie.”

“I know you are.” Jacquie commiserates, and Carl can hear her honesty - after all, she feels the same way. “But we need to focus on our goal. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know,” Carl acquiesces, aware of exactly what Bennett is referring too, although he can’t take the risk of acknowledging it over the phone. Frustrated, he finally pleads, “Call me when there’s something new to report, okay?”

“Of course. Take care of yourself Horvath.” Jacquie requests.

“You too,” Carl responds, before hanging up.

***   

**_Lakevallée, the next morning…_ **

Gabriel Harrington darts into the majestic woods in direction of the lake. It’s barely six a.m, but he enjoys coming to Dove Point early, to admire the blended colors from the rising sun and sketch the scene before going into the town to open his gallery. He’s thankful for the many-faceted inspiration Lakevallée nurtures in him as an artist; nature is the area’s grandest resource, something Gabriel understood when he was nine years old, discovering so much beauty for the first time. 

The vast, splendid lake dominates the valley, giving the impression that the city is rising from its shore. A waterfall plunges from Dove Point, finishing its fall peacefully after a wild voyage. Like a wide-eyed child, Gabriel marvels again at the breathtaking sight, the view always as stunning as the last time.

During the year, only 2,300 individuals live in Lakevallée, mostly artists in quest of a refuge, which explains why such a small location is renowned throughout the nation for its art. The population doubles in summer, though, an ephemeral bustle taking over, especially during the annual photography exhibition in early July.

Gabriel moved back here from Boston almost three years ago, taking over the prestigious gallery when the former manager retired. Freshly divorced, he’s needed some time to re-accustom himself to the gossip that inevitably proliferates in a small town. When he first returned, he had the impression that he’d landed in a real-life version of  _ Desperate Housewives _ .

“You need to stop thinking so much,” a voice interrupts his thoughts as Gabriel reaches the Point, and he smiles as he notices his friend already sitting on the edge of the cliff, one leg hanging into the void while the other one is bent in front of him.

“And you need to scoot back. You know it makes me dizzy whenever I see you sitting there.” Gabriel counters, putting his bag on the ground and trying hard not to stare at Liam. He’s suffered from vertigo for as long as he can remember.

“Look elsewhere then. I’m not moving.” Liam responds, turning around to glance at Gabriel. “Although, you do look a little pale. Do you mind if I take a picture? I think it would be great to show the real you at the entrance to your gallery, in lieu of that stiff photo Connor took of you,” he mocks, finally jumping up to stand next to his friend.

“I look great!” Gabriel pushes Liam’s shoulder. “Besides, Connor used a photogravure for my portrait.”

“You look like a dork in it,” Liam drawls, smirking.

“Take that back, you social misfit!” Gabriel retorts. “And what the fuck are you doing here, anyway? Why aren’t you at the pier? You never come here in the morning.”

Liam shrugs as he grabs his SLR camera as well as a wide-angle lens from his backpack and carefully exchanges it for the one that’s in place. “Some tourist wants a view from Dove Point at sunrise.”

“There are a hundred photos of Dove Point at sunrise in the shops already,” Gabriel argues, “most of them ones you took.”

“Mine are all sold out, and I can’t refuse a request when the person asking has good taste and is willing to pay an extra fee for the service, can I?” Liam brags. “And the colors are amazing today. Besides, I wanted to try my new lens.”

“Hmm…” Gabriel hums, not entirely convinced by his friend’s explanation. But he doesn’t really care why Liam is here, since he knows they will both keep quiet, letting each other concentrate.

Gabriel removes a piece of charcoal and a sketchbook from his bag, taking a seat on a natural bench - the trunk of an old, fallen oak - overlooking the waterfall. Meanwhile, Liam resumes his position on the edge of the precipice and stares ahead for a while, before raising his camera and adjusting the lens.

They stay for an hour without speaking, Liam examining their surroundings as he takes more pictures from different angles, the sun slowly rising over the town, while Gabriel focuses on his sketch. He likes to draw, although he is not good enough to pursue it as a career. That’s why he became a gallery owner, since he has a gift for recognizing real talent, in any art form. Besides, he also possesses an astute business sense and is well-respected in his field.

“I’m done,” Liam declares as he comes to sit next to Gabriel. Peering at the sketch, he teases, “You never considered taking a drawing class?”

“Fucker…” Gabriel mumbles as he adds another line to the paper before using his finger to slowly rub it, blurring the edge. He finally looks up, “What are you waiting for? You need a ride?”

“No. I have my Harley,” Liam declines. He doesn’t add anything more and yet, he doesn’t leave, staring at the picture in feigned interest.

“Okay. What’s going on?” Gabriel inquires as he sets his charcoal down on the tree trunk.

Liam sighs. “It’s Connor.”

“What about him?” Gabriel pushes, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. He is pretty sure he now knows the reason why Liam seems off.

“I fucked him again,” Liam confirms his assumption, prompting Gabriel to slap his arm. He protests loudly, “Hey!”

“I told you not to!” Gabriel reprimands his friend. “You know he’s not good for you.”

“You mean you don’t want me to be with him since you’re-” Liam corrects, running his fingers through his beard, but Gabriel interrupts him.

“You were the one complaining about him becoming too comfortable, remember?”

“Yeah. But I’m a man.” Liam retorts, before realizing what he just said doesn’t really mean anything. He clarifies, “I have needs.”

“Really?” Gabriel chuckles. “I’m a man too in case you didn’t notice.”

“You’re supposedly into pussy,” Liam deadpans. “Gay men are perverts, didn’t you know?”

Gabriel barks out a laugh. “Stop playing Don Juan when you’re barely getting any.”

“That’s why I fucked Connor again. I was desperate,” Liam claims. When Gabriel gives him a doubtful look, Liam insists, “I’m not kidding. It’s not like fags are proudly marching down the streets of our lovely town.”

“You like Connor,” Gabriel contradicts. 

“He is a good lay,” Liam shrugs, smirking, although it dies away pretty quickly. “But this was a mistake. As soon as I fucked him, he started talking about his personal life, again. You know, about his mother being constantly on his back and chastising him for his unique way of handling the guests at their hotel, and about you-”

“Mary-Elizabeth? She’s the loveliest person in this burgh.” Gabriel objects, ignoring Liam’s attempt to bring up his relationship with his childhood friend. “Connor should be grateful he has her for a mother. And between you and me, I fear the hotel wouldn’t survive if not for Mary-Elizabeth. Connor may be a genius when it comes to paint, but with people? He needs to stop acting so childishly.”

“He needs to grow a pair, I agree,” Liam resumes, his brow furrowing. “Not that he doesn’t have a big-”

“Stop!” Gabriel cuts him off, before muttering, his hands over his ears, “Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy...” He keeps repeating that word louder and louder, until Liam stands up and gives him the finger, snatching his backpack and striding away.

***

When Connor Decunn’s eyelids flutter open, the first thing he notices is that Liam is gone. With a deep sigh, the curly-haired, auburn brunet straightens up and looks around for any indication that the photographer was here in the first place. When he sees none, he flops down on his back, and just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

He should get up. He checks the clock and, sure enough, it’s already seven-thirty. He needs to help his mom with the numerous guests staying at the hotel at this time of the year. He also needs to paint, but just thinking about it gives him a headache.

He finally drags himself into the shower, the water helping him wash away his drowsiness. He manages to get dressed in record time and heads down the stairs. Grabbing his keys from the shelf in the entryway, he walks out of his house and locks the door. With a quick glance at the lake, he slides behind the wheel of his old 1967 Mustang. A few minutes later, he arrives at the Decunn hotel and enters the lobby, noticing people are already there, waiting for their breakfast, for which service begins at eight.

“Connor,” his mother greets him as he enters the kitchen, the tone of her voice a bit reproachful.

“Not now,” Connor retorts as he goes to check with the cook that everything is in order. His mom lets out a deep sigh, but she doesn’t add anything more.

He spends his morning attending to a thousand and one annoying details, including minor repairs to the twenty-seven rooms in the hotel, and taking over the shift for a seasonal receptionist who called in sick. By the time the morning is over, he is in a foul mood, but he keeps smiling, controlling his temper by sticking to short sentences, like - “Yes, Sir,” or “Of course, Madam,” and “I will take care of that right away, Miss” - trying to be the perfect host for the guests, even when their requests are truly ridiculous.

He’s barely come down from showing the pretentious Ms. Harris up to her room when she returns to the lobby with her cretin Yorkshire. “Mr. Decunn, I need a huge favor,” she declares in that sugary tone she uses. Connor is eying her ‘snookums’ - the dog has pink ribbons on its ears for Pete’s sake - when she drops her request. “I need a pink, silky cover to keep my baby warm outside. She is so sensitive to all these moist breezes.”

Connor stares at the sixty-year-old, overweight woman, asking himself if she can possibly be as pathetic as she seems. Peering at her platinum blonde hair, her dark-red lips, her pink blush, her purple earrings, her numerous necklaces and expensive rings, he considers acceding to her demand for a split second, before opting for another strategy, “You should just keep your lovely dog in your room. You never know what could happen if you let it outside, so close to the lake,” he articulates, grinning broadly.

“What do you mean?” Ms. Harris questions skeptically.

Connor takes her arm, guiding her a few steps away as if he is going to share a huge secret. He finally begins, “A couple of decades ago - I was barely a teenager then, a ghost showed up in Lakevallée. We still call him the ‘canine ghost killer’. No one has ever seen him, and yet, dogs can sense him and start barking as soon as they arrive at the Decunn Hotel.” 

“Oh my God! Mr. Couilles barked when we arrived an hour ago!” Ms. Harris stresses out as she rubs Mr. Couilles’s head frantically.

Mr. Couilles? Isn’t that a stupid name for a man’s ‘balls’ in French? Connor muses, suspecting Ms. Harris doesn’t have a clue as to the meaning. 

Ignoring the ridiculous name, he continues, “It did? You need to be careful then. You see, once in a while, a dog disappears during its first night here and its body is found in the morning along the lakeshore. Poor, poor things!” Connor falsely rubs his eyes, inwardly snorting. Ms. Harris should have called her dog Mr. Dick, so that it could have gone off investigating the mystery of its fellow canines’ disappearance.

“That’s awful!” Ms. Harris exclaims, horrified, squeezing her little baby in her arms and covering the poor - indeed - thing with kisses, while Connor is assaulted by her awful perfume.

“So, you understand you need to be careful and discreet. And that includes ensuring Mr. Balls doesn’t bark and, of course, no pink, silky covers outside, or even fabric of any kind - so the ghost doesn't notice a cute little thing like this one.” Connor advises, purposely misnaming the dog, although Ms. Harris doesn’t seem to notice.

“Of course,” Ms. Harris’ head bobs up and down. “Thank you so much for the warning, Mr. Decunn. I deeply appreciate it.”

“You’ve very welcome, Ms. Harris,” Connor pats her shoulder as he leads her back toward the elevator. “Now, go back to your room and please call the front desk if you need anything else.”

“I will!” Ms. Harris fervently agrees as she walks away, waving at Connor and blowing him a kiss.

Connor pretends to catch it and place it on his heart. As soon as she turns the corner, he grimaces, although he inwardly congratulates himself for preventing Lakevallée from being subjected to the sight of Ms. Harris parading her pink-covered sausage down the sidewalk.

Fuck, he hates these morons, not that he’s ever been good with people or made many friends. When he was younger, he was just the weird, different kid lost in his own world, failing at school even though he had an IQ of 162. Until Gabriel entered his life when he was eight and became his best friend, not that that ended well, either. 

Today, at thirty-two, the whole town takes pride in him as their genius, gay artist, even if he has yet to make a real breakthrough in the art world - or more accurately, in a world that doesn't stop at Lakevallée. Furthermore, people don’t like him much because he never has been good at socializing. It’s a miracle his mom is still so patient with him, since no matter how much he grits his teeth, it’s hard not to tell people to go fuck themselves. Right now, he’s very close to drowning Ms. Harris’s stupid ‘snookums’ in the lake himself.

At three, he finally makes it home and locks himself in his studio. It’s his only refuge since he allows no one else in here. His hand grabs the brush, dips into the colors, and approaches the canvas without hesitation, his eyes considering nuances and shapes, until a creation emerges from his frenzy. But when it ends, he feels drained, not elated. 

It’s been fourteen years since he exhibited his first painting at the gallery, although he did it for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to impress Gabriel and to be noticed and admired, hoping everyone would cease regarding him as the weird boy from Lakevallée. He screwed up on both fronts.

The truth is, people don’t realize how creating affects him. They just see the result of his talent and immediately conclude he is one lucky guy, one of those misunderstood geniuses who both fascinates and repels people.

Liam, though, doesn’t treat him like a freak. Things are pretty simple between them, even though Connor is smart enough to realize Liam is only using him for sex, but he doesn’t care. He is not in love with the man, or even interested in settling down anyway, not with anyone but the one man who doesn’t want him that way. He needs to feel another man’s skin moving in pleasure at his touch, however, so Liam can use him as much as he wants. If only Connor knew how to keep his mouth shut after sex, maybe he wouldn’t have to work so hard to get Liam to fuck him again.

The ringtone of his phone interrupts his musings, so he hastily rubs his hands with a rag and accepts the call.

“Connor?” His mother’s voice greets him. 

“What?” he abruptly replies as he checks the time. It’s already seven.

“I need you to handle the front desk tonight,” Mary-Elizabeth informs him. “Elly is still sick, and no one else is available. I would do it myself, but I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Pettigrew at the drive-in. I can cancel if you can’t cover for me.”

Connor is tempted to refuse, but he knows his mom rarely has any free time to herself, especially in the summer. Moreover, she is not getting any younger - she just turned seventy a couple of months ago - and he fears she could get sick if she overdoes it. “It’s fine, Mom. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Mary-Elizabeth answers cheerfully. “Milton will be here at midnight to replace you.”

“Okay,” Connor acknowledges. “Have fun,” he wishes before ending the call.

Thirty minutes later, after a quick shower and a sandwich his mother prepared before leaving, Connor takes up his position at the hotel’s reception desk. It should be a quiet night since all the rooms but one are sold out, and most of the guests are either out on the town or have crashed early, so they can go hiking the next day.

At ten forty-five, though, a guest appears at the front door. The man is carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder and seems a little anxious. 

“May I help you?” Connor greets him as the stranger halts at the desk.

“Hi,” the man responds, his lips curling upward. “I know you must be full up for the night, but do you have a room available after that? I’m in town for a few days, but I didn’t plan this trip ahead of time, so…” his voice trails off as he shrugs.

“You’re in luck,” Connor comments. “We have one room left. It’s on the top floor, with a view of the lake.”

“That's perfect,” the man hastily replies. “I might be in town for a while, though.”

“How long?” Connor inquires.

“Three, four days?” the man answers, before clarifying, “four nights.”

“Let me check,” Connor requests, peering at the computer screen. When he is sure the room is available, he confirms, “You're lucky. I can book you for the next four nights but not more since we’re full after that. I just need a name and a credit card, and then I will show you to your room.”

“Thanks,” the man smiles again as he reaches into the pocket of his cargo pants for his wallet. Extracting a credit card, he hands it to Connor and says, “My name is Justin Taylor.”

*** 

**_A few hours later…_ **

Liam wakes up crying. For a while, he can’t move and just lies on his bed, dazed by the lingering sensations his dream evoked, tears rolling down his face. He can feel the wetness on the pillowcase, but he doesn’t care because he still needs time to process that those images weren’t real. After a while, the feeling fades away, and he rubs his face and curses, hating himself for acting like a weakling and letting a fucking dream mess with his head.  

In the dream, he is lying on a hospital bed, his body connected to a hundred machines, multiple casts covering his legs and arms, his head protected by a dressing. He wakes up, but no one comes into the room. He gets up - at that point, the wires, bandages, and casts are gone - and stares around the room, calling for help. A woman enters and looks at him with wide eyes. He can’t hear her, but she pushes him, forcing him to sit down on the bed he was lying on a moment ago. He wants to refuse. Somehow, that bed scares the shit out of him, even though he knows it’s completely irrational, but the woman keeps yelling at him, gesticulating with her hand and pointing at his head.

He raises his hand then and feels the moisture. It’s pouring from the side of his forehead, and when he looks at his palm, it’s covered in blood. He screams, or he tries to, but his voice is gone. The bleeding doesn’t stop though, and all of a sudden, he is standing in the middle of a parking lot with a man lying still at his feet. He steps back at the sight, but he feels the sticky substance he is stepping on, and as he peers down, he realizes he is surrounded by blood. That’s when the man slowly moves and gets up, his back to him at first. In that moment, Liam is terrified and wants to run away because he already knows he will die if he faces that man, but his feet are stuck to the cold blood, so he just stays there, unable to close his eyes.

He always wakes up when he sees his reflection’s smirking face and the dreadful look in his bloody eyes, his lungs seizing because of how petrified he feels.

He really hates those dreams. 

Deciding that he he’s had enough self-pity for one day, Liam finally drags himself out of bed at 6:20, gets dressed, and heads down the hall to the living room. He pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot in the chalet’s rustic kitchen. Noticing the unraveled hem of his plaid shirt, he shrugs and walks toward the wooden front door, snatching a grey, herringbone, Aston-style cap which has seen better days from the peg by the door - before stepping outside, his feet encased in beat-up deck shoes. The lake is calm and quiet, with a light breeze blowing through the trees. Liam sits on the hanging bench facing the pier, rocking back and forth slightly as he observes everything and sips the hot beverage, his foot swinging to and fro, his ankle resting just above the knee of his faded blue jeans.

Every day, during these few minutes in the early morning, he allows himself to reminisce about his former life. Those he left behind, unwillingly. He wonders how they are doing, what they’re thinking about, and how they feel - if they still think about him, and if, somehow, he’s still a part of their lives. 


	4. And so it begins

**_Lakevallée, Sunday, July 19th…_ **

Sitting on the balcony outside his cozy room, Justin wonders for the thousandth time what he is doing here. Lakevallée is a stunning place, though, so he isn’t completely wasting his time. But still.

Now that his momentary insanity has faded, he feels like a fool. But he can either brood some more about how pathetic he is to be here because of the fucking picture of a man that reminded him of Brian, or he can enjoy this impromptu vacation.

So, he decides to go to the gallery which, as he discovers when he gets there at ten-thirty, is already filled with tourists. Entering the old train station, which was converted into a gallery almost a century ago, Justin is immediately struck by its singularity. This place is truly magnificent.

He strolls around the main room for the next hour or so, where paintings and sculptures are on display - appreciating the variety and quality of the artwork.

“It’s truly amazing, isn’t it?” a voice declares after he has been standing in front of a painting of Lakevallée’s main street for five minutes. Turning to look at the stranger, he first notices the man’s eyes. They’re a very pale shade of green. “I’m sorry,” the dark-blond haired man apologizes, extending his hand. “I’m Gabriel Harrington, the owner of this gallery. I didn’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help but notice your interest while you were admiring the other paintings a few minutes ago.”

“They’re all incredible,” Justin confirms as he shakes the man’s hand, waving at three more paintings on the same wall. “I’ve never heard of this artist.”

“Connor has rarely exhibited his art anywhere other than this gallery.” Gabriel discloses with a smile, before clarifying, “He was born here.”

“Well, he is very talented. It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone apply colorful gouache with such a fine technique.” Justin asserts before introducing himself. “I’m Justin Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gabriel politely responds. “Are you an artist?”

“I used to be,” Justin shrugs.

“Hmm,” Gabriel’s brow furrows as he looks at the younger man. “Do you like the town so far?”

“I just arrived last night, but, yes, it’s really a charming place.” Justin replies. “In fact, I came here because I saw an article about your annual photography exhibition in PleinAir.”

Gabriels nods, gesturing to a small door at the back of the room. “Most of the photographs are still being exhibited in the second room. Have you already seen them?”

“No,” Justin replies, his interest piqued.

“Well then, please do. They really are worth a look.” Gabriel recommends, guiding Justin toward that area.

They enter a smaller room with large, partly opaque windows, a few rays illuminating the patterned, black and white cement tiles. Justin immediately notices each grouping of pictures. He calculates that seven photographers must be showing their work.

“One resident from Lakevallée was selected this year. The others are from all over the United States - Maryland, California, Oregon, Indiana, Georgia, and Oklahoma.” Gabriel informs Justin.

“Who is the resident from Lakevallée?” Justin asks out of curiosity.

“Liam Byron. His work is over there,” Gabriel points at a few photographs. “Don’t look too closely at his picture though. He looks like the Grinch. I always tell him he should practice smiling more.”

“I…” Justin’s voice trails off as he discovers the photo of the man Gabriel has just identified as Liam Byron and recognizes him from the PleinAir magazine. His hair is partly hidden by a grey Aston cap, brown strands straggling over his ears, an unkempt beard and mustache covering most of his face. Black-framed eyeglasses with thick lenses make it hard to discern the color of his eyes, especially with the cap shadowing his forehead. The man does have a prominent nose, but, really - now that Justin studies a larger version of the man he saw in that photo a few days ago - it’s the only feature that reminds him of Brian’s visage. Nothing else is the same.

His skin looks roughened and sunburned, while his ex always slathered on anti-aging lotion to keep his skin smooth and youthful. Even his hair is darker. Besides, Brian wouldn’t have been caught dead in a plaid shirt that looks like it was purchased at Walmart.

Even so, Justin’s heart is pounding, and he can’t tear his gaze away from Liam Byron.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asks in a concerned tone.

“What?” Justin responds absentmindedly, before realizing he’s zoned out and refocusing on Gabriel. “Oh, yeah. Sure? I’m just a little tired, that’s all. It was a long trip and I... well...” he stammers anxiously, unable to explain his odd behavior.

“Where did you travel from?” Gabriel inquires, ignoring Justin’s uneasiness.

“Philadelphia.” Justin answers as nonchalantly as possible. He glances quickly at Liam’s picture one more time, berating himself for reacting so stupidly when this man is clearly a complete stranger.

“It’s what… a five-hour flight to reach Billings?”

“Six at least,” Justin corrects. “Add to that the three-hour drive to Lakevallée.”

“Well, Lakevallée is a great place to relax and enjoy the scenery, so I hope you will enjoy your stay.”

Justin nods as he studies the panel of photographs in front of him. He recognizes the lake, although Byron has also focused on details, capturing the flow of water in an amazing shading of black and while, using the sunshine reflecting on the surface. Another picture makes him smile. Five ducks are standing on the lakeshore, one taller than the others, apparently contemplating the boat slowly floating at the end of the nearby pier. The legend says, ‘Bob on vacation with his family in Lakevallée’.

“I’m sure I will.” Justin finally responds to Gabriel, still staring at the ducks. “These photographs are really good,” he states, indicating Liam Byron’s works with a tilt of his head. “Is Mr. Byron exhibiting other work elsewhere?”

“Liam has a studio up the street,” Gabriel reveals. “You can go now if you want. He should be there, although he is usually working in the morning, so he probably won’t answer. But he opens the studio to customers in the afternoon.”

“Thanks. I’ll give it a try,” Justin replies. “It was really nice to meet you. Your gallery is incredible.”

“I’m glad you think so. Don’t hesitate to come back; it’s always nice to talk about art with people who appreciate real talent.” Gabriel offers, accompanying Justin to the front door. “Liam’s studio is about two hundred yards from here. You can’t miss it.”

Justin smiles broadly at Gabriel, shaking his hand, before exiting the gallery.

***

**_Same time, Liam’s studio…_ **

Liam shuts off the overhead light, only a safelight now glowing in the room, and aims the lens after having placed the negative from the developed roll of film into the enlarger. An image of Lakevallée’s dock appears on the easel, with an elderly man sitting on an old chair, smoking a pipe, his face closed off as he stares into the distance.

A few minutes later, after having tested several exposure times, he places the chosen sheet of paper into the tray full of developer and grabs the tongs, moving the paper slowly. He watches as the picture comes to life, and when he is satisfied with the result, he carefully transfers it to a stop bath, and finally to a third tray of fixer to set the image.

The bell for the studio rings, just as Liam uses the dimmer switch to turn the overhead light on to its lowest setting. He frowns and decides to ignore whoever is at the door, hanging the picture up to dry, but the bell peals a second time. Cursing, he realizes the security monitor is turned off and grabs the remote to turn it back on, before picking up the tray full of developer to empty it. As he heads toward the special container to dispose of it safely, he peers at the screen in one corner of the room.

What he sees causes him to drop the tray, which lands with a loud clatter, the developer splashing all over his feet and the floor.

He hasn’t seen him in almost six years, back when he was still Brian Kinney, advertising genius and the stud of Liberty Avenue. That’s why the sight of him standing at his front door, waiting for the brunet to come greet him is too much for him to process. He _can’t_ be here. Liam is sure his brain is just messing with him again, that if he closes his eyes long enough, the young man Brian tried so hard not to fall in love with all those years ago will be gone.

So he does, but the blond is still there when Liam tentatively looks at the monitor again. He shakes his head, whispering a pleading, “No,” because he doesn’t know what else to do. His former lover isn’t supposed to be here, not with Malone still free to kill anyone Brian Kinney cares about, should the trafficker discover he is still alive.

Although, Liam isn’t Brian. Not anymore. Brian would never have agreed to hide or to pretend to be someone else when he woke up almost three years ago in that hospital bed. He would have fought to get his life back. But knowing a fucking psycho had gone so far as to orchestrate his murder changed the game.

“Jesus Christ!” Liam snaps, alone in the darkroom. He peers down at his feet, realizing he needs to clean up the chemical substance he dropped on the floor. So he heads toward a cabinet to retrieve a pair of gloves and a sponge, hastily wiping the liquid off his boots before washing the floor. It takes him fifteen minutes to finish cleaning his equipment, and by the time Liam dares to gaze at the monitor once more, Justin Taylor is gone.

He exits the darkroom and snatches a pair of black pants and his deck shoes from the closet along the opposite wall, divesting himself of his ruined blue jeans and tossing both his boots and jeans into a bag. He then heads up the stairs to the first floor, bypassing the studio on his right and stepping into his office to grab his jacket and helmet from the desk, before storming out the back door.

Twelve minutes later, he turns off his old Harley and rolls it into the carport. Entering the chalet, he immediately rushes to his room, heading straight for the desk. He walks past it, stopping in front a wooden panel which slowly moves as Liam pushes on it, revealing a prepaid cell phone and an envelope.

Liam takes the phone and keys in a number before starting to pace, removing his cap and nervously running a hand through his hair.

At the first ring, Carl Horvath’s voice sharply orders, “Hold on a sec...”

Liam hears voices in the background and waits for the detective to go somewhere quieter. Once Horvath informs him that he can safely speak, Liam immediately snarls, unable to control his agitation, “He’s here.”

“Sorry, what?” Horvath replies, confused.

“Justin Taylor. He’s fucking here! How the fuck could you let this happen?” Liam barks, briefly considering how disastrous it would have been if he’d come face to face with the young man, completely unprepared.

“Justin’s in Lakevallée?” Horvath echoes, bewildered.

“You fucking fix this.” Liam demands, cold anger flooding his veins. “He showed up at my studio this morning. It can’t be a coincidence, so tell me you’re going to fix it, or I swear to God-”

“Calm down,” Horvath cuts him off firmly. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“No!” Liam exclaims as he finally stops pacing and sits on his bed, rubbing his face. “You think I’m fucking crazy?”

“But, was he agitated? I mean, do you think he was here to see... _you_?” Carl pushes, both men understanding what the detective is implying.

“I…” Liam pauses, considering the question. “No. I mean, he didn’t look like a guy who’d just discovered his… ex lied to him by pretending to be fucking gone for the last six years.”

“Okay. So, think about it...” Horvath rationalizes. “Even though it’s hard to believe Justin would show up there randomly, he has no way of knowing you’re alive.”

“But for what other reason would he just show up at my studio?” Liam questions. “Are you crazy enough to think it’s just a coincidence?”

“No,” Horvath denies. “But if he knew you were alive, he would have confronted you already and we wouldn’t be having that conversation.”

“Shit,” Brian curses, realizing Horvath is right. Justin wouldn’t have left the studio if he thought Brian was in there. And the blond didn’t appear to be agitated while he was waiting for Liam to open the door.

“And…” Horvath continues, Liam catching a strange note of discomfort in his voice, “...it’s hardly likely he’ll recognize you.”

“What are you saying?” Liam questions.

Horvath takes a deep breath. “I’m quite sure Justin doesn’t know who you are. You’ve done such a great job of disguising your appearance, that if I didn’t know you, I’d never make the connection myself.” he asserts. “That gives you two options. Either you avoid him until he leaves, if you can, or…”

“You’re not suggesting that I talk to him, right?” Liam asks, flabbergasted.

“It could be good to know why he showed up in Lakevallée in the first place,” Horvath argues, before adding, his voice tinged with compassion, “I can’t ask you to approach him, knowing all you’ve gone through already. But I don’t like coincidence either, and if he found you because he discovered something he shouldn’t have, we need to know exactly what it is. We can’t ignore the possibility that Malone could still come after you, even though it’s unlikely after all this time. He could even be using him somehow.”

Liam squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I can’t deal with that, Carl.”

“I understand, son,” Carl replies gently. “You need to be careful, though. Avoiding Justin could make him suspicious, even if there’s a possibility that facing him could lead to more problems for both of you, especially if he knows something we don’t.”

“Fuck…” Liam breathes out, feeling exhaustion wash over him. “This is completely fucked up.”

“I agree,” Carl commiserates. “Listen, I’ll try to find out what Taylor is doing in Lakevallée, so we can decide how to respond. In the meantime, you do what you feel is best, okay?”

“We need to discover why he’s here,” Liam concurs tiredly, knowing he can’t just ignore a situation that could blow up in his face if he doesn’t try to address it. “I’ll keep you posted if I find out anything.”

“You do that.” Carl agrees.

After several seconds during which neither man says anything, Liam inquires so softly that he isn't sure the detective has heard him, “How are they?”

“They’re okay,” Carl responds, understanding immediately what Liam is asking.

Liam sighs loudly, stating hurriedly, “I’ll keep you posted,” not waiting for an answer before hanging up.

He fidgets with the phone for a couple of minutes, then stands up and replaces it in the secret cubbyhole, closing the wooden panel. He braces his hands on the wall and winces, trying to think of something to do. How the fuck is he supposed to deal with Justin’s presence in Lakevallée? Carl may have a point - his former lover most likely won’t recognize him - but Liam is worried about the damage such an encounter could cause. Dealing with the loss of his friends and family was hard enough, but lying? He isn’t supposed to have to lie, not to the only man he ever let get close to him in the past. And then what? What will happen if Liam fucks up and Justin discovers the truth?

Carl is right, though. They need to discover why his former lover is in Lakevallée in the first place.

Liam snorts, knowing the only way to deal with this is to face Justin. In other words, he is screwed.

***

Justin goes back to his hotel after his unsuccessful attempt to visit Byron’s studio. He enjoys a light lunch, sitting in the sun, before walking to the dock, where he relaxes on the grass for half an hour, just looking around.

He doesn’t let his thoughts wander though, preferring to focus on the scenery. It’s quite peaceful here. Two people arrive and climb into a speedboat moored at the dock, navigating away and disappearing from Justin’s sight after a couple of minutes.

When Justin reaches the studio, it’s already two-forty-five. He enters the first room - the one open to customers - mingling with the five other people who are already there. He notices an open door leading to what might be an office, surmising it’s Byron’s. Curious, he pretends to look at a photograph and tries to hear whether anyone is in there, before leaning against the doorframe.

“That area is private,” a voice warns him, startling Justin, who steps back. He looks around, discovering the receptionist from the hotel who checked him in the previous night.

“I’m sorry. I...” Justin stammers.

“You shouldn’t go in there,” The man repeats in a low voice, and Justin frowns when he sees the strange, almost pleading look on the man’s face.

“Again, I didn’t know…” Justin tries to excuse himself, but the man cuts him off.

“I’m just telling you because any time someone tries to enter Liam’s sanctuary without his consent, something awful happens. It’s like a curse. They either break their neck tripping down the staircase leading to the darkroom, or they’re hit by a truck when they leave and go to cross the street. I always suspected the owner of this studio of being a voodoo fetishist who likes to play with dolls and stab them long and hard...”

“Connor, that’s enough.” A deep, gravelly voice curtly interrupts the man.

Justin feels an inexplicable tension as he freezes, unable to move or meet Liam’s stare.

“Hello to you, too,” Connor finally retorts, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Justin volunteers, finally peering up at Liam and feeling his heart pounding hard in his chest as he sees him for the first time. The man is tall, lean, his messy, dark-brown hair longer than he imagined, almost falling to his shoulders while tucked behind his ears. He is wearing the same black-framed eyeglasses and Aston grey cap as in his picture. His beard is in disarray. His red plaid shirt has known better days. To sum it up, although he does resemble Brian, Liam Byron is nothing like him, and yet, there’s something about the photographer that immediately draws Justin to him, which is insane. Why is he reacting so strongly to a man he has never met before?

“It’s okay,” Liam responds with a slight smile, even his voice reminding him of Brian somehow, although Liam’s accent is slightly different. Justin sighs, inwardly chastising himself for comparing the two men. “Connor’s always had a weird sense of humor.” Liam continues, unaware of Justin’s inner debate. “Although, all geniuses are a little odd.”

“Hey!” Connor playfully slaps Liam’s arm.

“You’re the painter?” Justin inquires, not sure if his assumption is correct. “I saw some incredible gouaches at the gallery earlier today, and the owner told me the artist’s first name was Connor.”

“Never heard of him,” Connor dismisses his comment in a serious tone.

“Connor…” Liam chides, giving him a sharp look. “Cut the crap.”

“What? You said I was odd. I’m just living up to my reputation.” Connor counters derisively, prompting Liam to roll his eyes. Justin realizes the two men must know each other well to banter like this.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Justin Taylor,” he intervenes, extending his hand.

“Liam Byron,” the photographer responds, accepting the offered handshake. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

The touch lasts for a bit too long, so much so that Connor clears his throat on purpose, before giving Liam a huge grin. “This encounter is lovely and all, but I have work to do. Tell Gabriel I’ll have the painting ready by tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Liam mocks. “I’m not your personal secretary.”

“Please…” Connor surprisingly insists, making Justin frown in puzzlement.

Liam eyes the brunet for a few seconds, before relenting, “I’ll tell him.”

Connor nods, turning to Justin and declaring, “If you need anything, Liam is probably the worst person ever for the job. So, if he doesn’t behave and starts his voodoo shit, you come to find me, okay?”

Justin stares at the painter dubiously, responding with a hesitant, “Sure?”

“Connor,” Liam interjects, “get lost,”

“Have a nice day!” Connor bids them goodbye, before heading to the front door and exiting the studio.

Liam stares after him for a few seconds, before looking around at the other customers. He finally directs his gaze at Justin, who feels a shiver pass through him. “What can I do for you?”

“Huh?” Justin eloquently replies to Liam’s query.

“Is that a particularly… difficult question?” Liam enunciates slowly, making Justin feel like a moron while his heart inexplicably skips a beat.

“No, I mean…” Justin begins, hating himself for acting so dumb. “I came here for your photos… obviously. I visited the gallery earlier this morning, and Gabriel was nice enough to give me a tour, and I… well, your work is incredible, especially your use of black and white.”

“Hmm,” Liam assesses in a doubting tone. “So, you want to purchase a photo?”

“I…” Justin opens his mouth, realizing he hasn’t thought this through. “Maybe?”

Liam actually chuckles. “You do understand Connor is full of shit and that I can’t actually get into your head, right?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I’d love to purchase a photo,” he confirms at last. Why on earth he asks his next question, he will never know, “And I was wondering… is there any possibility you’d teach me how to use a camera, maybe go out and take a few snaps?”

“What?” Liam stares at him in evident astonishment.

“I mean…” Justin stammers, feeling like he has been possessed by foot-in-mouth disease. Who would ask a professional photographer he has never met before to teach a stranger how to take pictures?

“You want me to teach you how to shoot photographs?” Liam reformulates his question, still looking quite bewildered by the request.

Of course, since Justin is really a lost cause, he stammers again, “I…”

Liam laughs dryly, eying Justin askance. “That’s a first. People usually avoid me like the plague.”

“Well, I don’t care much for people either, so…” Justin volunteers with a shrug.

Liam doesn’t respond, and after a moment, Justin feels himself squirming under his intense stare. The whole thing suddenly feels like a bad idea. “Forget I…”

“Tomorrow morning, five-thirty. I’ll pick you up from wherever you’re staying.” Liam abruptly declares, surprising Justin.

“I’m at the Decunn Hotel.” Justin discloses, too dumbfounded by Liam’s proposal to question it.

“Hmm, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Liam confirms before striding away to talk with one of the other customers.

“Okay,” Justin replies even though Liam has already walked off. He keeps watching the photographer until he realizes he is openly eying the man, glancing at the few other customers to make sure they’re not looking at him suspiciously. Finally snapping out of his trance, he exits the studio and heads back to the hotel, wondering once again what the fuck he is doing and why he is looking forward to spending more time with Liam Byron.

***

Meanwhile, across the street, a man is standing, a cellphone to his ear. When the phone call connects, he breathes out, “Taylor just met Byron.” He listens to the caller’s question, before divulging, “No. I don’t think he recognized him.” He waits, nodding his head a few times, before muttering, “Will do.” and ending the call.

Then, he sighs, observing Taylor walking away, before he heads off down the sidewalk.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be posted in a couple of weeks


	5. First lesson at Dove Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally able to post this week. You don’t mind, do you? :)

**_Lakevallée, Monday, July 20th…_ **

Liam doesn’t sleep much. He didn’t plan to agree to Justin’s request, but, somehow, his mouth spoke without his consent, and now he is going to spend a whole morning with the blond. He isn’t sure how he is going to survive.

He drowses on and off for most of the night before getting up at 4:15 a.m, giving up on getting more sleep. He is submerged in fear and anxiety, although he also feels something else entirely. Not exactly joy - he hasn’t been truly happy in so long that he can’t remember what it’s like - but something close. And to be honest, it really scares the shit out of him.

He showers and gets dressed in a pair of grey, faded jeans and a black, ripped shirt, before gulping down a cup of black coffee, since he has come to hate the taste of sugar for some reason. As he does every morning, he then heads outside to sit on the hanging bench, swinging back and forth for about twenty minutes as he stares off into the darkness, trying to shut off his brain. But the traitorous organ assaults him with images from the day before, reminding him of Justin, his eyes, his smell. 

The blond didn’t recognize him. Liam is almost sure he didn’t, anyway, and if he did, it means he has turned out to be one hell of an actor - and that would be a miracle, since the Justin he knew couldn’t hide anything from him. But that was long ago, and Liam isn’t sure of anything today.  

What intrigues Liam is the tension they both felt when they first saw each other. The brunet knows it’s impossible to fake that, and he doesn’t understand since Justin would be a fool to be attracted by someone like him. Brian Kinney was so much  _ more _ than he will ever be.

That hint of something grabs him again as he thinks about the blond’s smile. He’s missed that smile. He didn’t realize how much until yesterday, but then again, it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to think about what used to be. It’s too painful and so much easier not to feel at all.

Liam sighs, checking the time to make sure he won’t be late. He is not ready for this. When his watch reaches 5:10, he almost considers forgetting the whole thing, but he can’t cancel since he doesn’t have Justin’s number.

So, at 5:15, he pulls out the 1977 Harley he found collecting dust and rust when he first arrived at the chalet, and turns it on, making it roar a couple of times out of habit. He inhales, hating this overwhelming feeling in his chest, before finally putting it into motion.

He arrives at the Decunn Hotel at exactly 5:27. Justin is already waiting for him on the stairs leading to the main entrance, and fuck if Liam isn’t torn between getting out of here as fast as he can, or blurting out the truth about his identity, right here, right now.

In the end, he settles for, “Get on,” handing over a helmet as Justin approaches him, without bothering to say hello.

Justin seems taken aback by his greeting, but he obeys nonetheless, sliding the helmet onto his head before locking the buckle in place and climbing on behind Liam.

Liam tries to ignore the feeling of Justin’s arms encircling his waist as well as his body pressed against his back and fails. 

***

“Wow,” Justin breathes out in awe, as he takes in Dove Point and the magnificent view of Lakevallée, the darkness lifting as sunrise nears. It’s the first word either of them has uttered since Liam picked him up at the hotel.

Liam settles his backpack on the ground and retrieves a camera, ignoring Justin. 

“So,” Justin tries after another minute without either of them saying anything, Liam busily preparing the necessary equipment for their lesson. “How long have you lived here?”

“Why do you ask?” Liam inquires suspiciously.

“Well, you know… small talk is this wonderful technique I use when I don’t know what else to say,” Justin volunteers, still questioning why the photographer would have agreed to come with him when it seems he would prefer to be anywhere else. “You should try it sometime.”

“I told you. I’m not a social person,” Liam replies, staring at him, although Justin can see the man’s posture relaxing a bit. Justin holds his gaze, and after a few seconds, Liam sighs, “I’ve been here almost three years.”

“Where do you hail from?”

“For Chrissake,” Liam mutters as he hands Justin a camera. “For someone who claims not to like people, you’re awfully chatty.”

“No I’m not,” Justin refutes with a small smile.

“Where do  _ you _ come from?” Liam counters.

“Philly. Although I grew up in Pittsburgh,” Justin reveals, eying the photographer to gauge his reaction.

Liam’s brow furrows as he snatches the camera back from Justin to make some adjustments. “Philadelphia? That’s a long way from here.”

“Yeah,” Justin agrees, watching the photographer squint as he looks through the lens, fine-tuning the focus. “I’m not even sure how I ended up here.”

“You mean, you traveled across the country for no reason?” Liam questions, directing a dubious gaze at Justin.

Justin shakes his head. “Not exactly. I saw an article in PleinAir magazine about the annual national exhibition in Lakevallée, and…” his voice trails off before he continues, “I’m not sure. I think I needed a break.”

“From what?”

“Life?” Justin answers, although it sounds more like a question. 

Liam chuckles dryly. “Yeah, well…” he walks over to Justin, brushing his arm as he shows him the camera. “Take this and forget about life for now. We have work to do if we don’t want to miss the sunrise.”

Justin nods, reaching out to accept it from Liam, feeling a brief spark as he accidentally touches him. The man makes him nervous for some reason, so he doesn’t analyze any further why he feels the way he does in this man’s presence, instead preferring to follow the photographer to the Point, listening closely to his advice.

“No. Not like that,” Liam exasperatedly chides Justin half an hour later, “You need to angle the shot wider if you want a decent photo of the lake.”

“The angle is fine,” Justin responds on purpose, sure that the photographer is going to rip his neck off. It’s not his fault that the more annoyed the man becomes, the more Justin wants to crack up.

“No, it’s not,” Liam snatches the camera from Justin’s hand, glaring. “I thought you wanted a souvenir of your visit to our charming town,” he mocks, using a sugary, high-pitched tone.

“I do!” Justin tries to grab the camera from Liam, but the man is taller than him and raises his hand above his head. “Give it back!”

“No,” Liam laughs softly at the blond’s silliness. 

“Come on!” Justin insists, although he is grinning. “That’s not fair! You’re so much taller than I am.”

“Go complain to your mommy,” Liam groans, still keeping the camera out of reach. “Or, you know, you can stop arguing and listen to me instead. If you’re smart and do as I say for a change, I will even let you in the studio darkroom with me, so that you can develop your photos yourself.”

“You’d do that?” Justin stops trying to snatch the camera, astounded that Liam would suggest something like that. 

“Only if you stop jumping around like a ten-year-old. Believe it or not, but it’s irritating as hell.”

“I promise I won’t jump anymore,” Justin immediately declares, although he can’t stop a laugh from escaping at the absurdity of his statement.

Liam stares at him before shaking his head playfully. “Whatever…” he drawls, placing the camera back in Justin’s hands and positioning himself behind the blond. “Okay, now, look into the lens.”

Justin stops moving as he feels Liam’s body against his, the man’s breath washing over the side of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Use the focus mode to find a better angle. Do you see the eagle over there?” Liam asks, pointing at the wild bird, which is flying in circles approximately one hundred yards away.

Justin can’t speak, so he nods, waiting for Liam to give him more direction.

“Use it to find the right angle. Not too wide, not too narrow, just…” Liam grazes Justin’s fingers as he focuses the shot. The blond can barely breathe now, his heart thumping in his chest, and he feels himself quiver slightly. He hasn’t reacted like this to a man in years, which completely throws him off. “Now, adjust the lens, and just… feel.” Liam’s murmurs softly, and Justin inhales deeply, breathing in the man’s scent, before concentrating on the camera, eying the scene. 

Liam scoots back, allowing Justin some space to take the picture. The blond smiles and presses the button once. He then walks a little further away and kneels on the ground, aiming the camera at the eagle to take a close-up of the majestic predator.

***

**_Same day, 1:40 p.m._ **

Gabriel tentatively enters Connor’s home, listening carefully for any sound indicating the painter is there. He hears movement from the second floor and slowly makes his way up the stairs.

The shower is running, and Gabriel quietly walks toward the bathroom door, which has been left ajar. There, he discerns the naked shape of his childhood friend, standing under the spray, and he quickly looks away when he realizes he is staring at his back and the curve of his ass. His eyes land on Connor’s studio door.

He approaches it, tempted to take a look inside, although he knows Connor would have a fit if he dared to enter without his permission. He stays in the corridor, debating whether or not he should go in, but when his hand grasps the handle and he attempts to open the door, he realizes it’s locked.

“Gabriel Harrington trying to break into my studio. I could report you, you know?” Connor’s voice stops him dead in his tracks. Peering around with a guilty look on his face, he discovers his friend standing in the doorway to the bathroom, only a towel hanging low on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel offers contritely.

Connor chuckles dryly, ignoring Gabriel as he goes into his room to put on some clothes. “The painting is downstairs,” he enunciates, talking loudly enough that Gabriel can hear him from the corridor.

Gabriel nods absently before heading back down the stairs. Since he doesn’t see the painting anywhere in the living room, he waits for Connor to join him.

Connor appears a minute later, not uttering a word as he disappears into his office and comes back with a large painting. “Here. Take it and... “ he seems to consider what to say, before adding, “Why isn’t Liam the one picking up this crappy masterpiece, anyway? I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Liam couldn’t make it today. And I’m not avoiding you.”

“No?” Connor frowns. “Oh, let me check.” He walks to a shelf and retrieves a dictionary, leafing through the pages. “Avoidance… Starts with an A, for asshole.” he shoots a pointed look at Gabriel. “Then a V for…” he thinks for a few seconds before proposing, “V for vagina! and then the O, for-”

“Connor…” Gabriel pronounces his name disapprovingly, already knowing Connor is going to give him shit for not visiting him sooner.

“What? You don’t know your alphabet?” Connor replies with a dubious look on his face. “You know, those fabulous letters they teach you in first grade. A, B, C, D…” he sing-songs.

Gabriel is already losing patience. The truth is, his relationship with Connor is so fucking complicated he doesn’t know how to act around him anymore, and his friend, of course, doesn’t spare him, either. “I know the alphabet; stop-”

“Then, you can review the meaning of ‘avoidance’ with me.” Connor insists, finally stopping on one page and pointing at the word. “There: the act of avoiding something or someone.”

“I know what avoidance means,” Gabriel can’t resist retorting.

“Oh, you’re smart!” Connor mocks.

“And you’re fucking infuriating,” Gabriel groans. “I get it, okay? I’ve been a lousy friend. I hurt you and I’m sorry! I really am.”

“No, you’re not,” Connor refutes with a shrug. “But hey, no one is blaming you apart from me, so why would you care?”

“Connor…” Gabriel wants Connor to shut up now. No one has ever succeeded in making him angrier than this stubborn, annoying, pig-headed man, and yet, he also misses him more than he cares to admit. 

“Forget it. Just take the fucking painting and leave.” Connor dismisses him as he moves to replace the dictionary on the shelf.

“Connor…” Gabriel calls his name again, because he can’t just leave like that. Besides, it’s the first time in a long time they’ve seen each other without anyone else around, so this is his chance to clear the air once and for all.

Connor pretends not to hear him and heads to the stairs, but he pauses as Gabriel finally snaps.

“You’re the one who shut me out when I returned three years ago, not the other way around. Or have I missed something?” 

Connor turns around, glaring at Gabriel, and storms over to his friend, shouting, “And you’re the one who ran away when I was stupid enough to think you cared about me!” he exclaims, repeatedly pushing Gabriel with both hands. “Ten years, Gabriel! You ran away for ten years! You married your little woman, started a new life, and just let me wonder what I’d done for you to hate me so much.”

“I never hated you…” Gabriel grabs Connor’s hands, forcing him to stop hitting him. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why?” Connor questions, looking at him. “I kissed you that night after my first exhibition. I told you how I felt. But you rejected me and never looked back. Why, if not because you hate me?” the man asks, struggling to escape Gabriel’s grip. “Let me go!”

“Fuck Connor…” Gabriel breathes out, feeling the man’s pain. He knows he fucked up when Connor kissed him all those years ago, but the truth is, what he felt that night terrified him. He met Connor when they were kids, after his folks moved to Lakevallée to find a quieter life far away from the stress of a big city like Boston. Connor was so closed off as a boy, but Gabriel took him under his wing, standing up for him whenever other kids would mess with the brunet. He treated him like his own brother, the two of them inseparable, spending all their time talking about girls, about how they couldn't wait to grow up and make their own decisions. And of course, they talked about sex. Gabriel always envisioned himself meeting a girl and having two kids by the time he hit thirty, and he would spend hours talking about this fantasy with Connor. The man was his best friend, the guy he went to when he was feeling down, the guy he confided in when he lost his virginity to Julia Stratton and climaxed in her mouth after having fucked her for an hour without coming, because he was too nervous to get really hard.

When Connor kissed him during his first summer break from college in Boston and told Gabriel he loved him, the man’s world shattered. Retrospectively, Gabriel understands he was just too young, too unprepared, to face his friend’s feelings. But even more so, he tried to escape his own. He never thought he could desire a man, not in that way, not until he felt Connor’s lips on his own. At that moment, all he had believed in until then faded away. He responded to the kiss. For a split second, he felt an animalistic need to possess Connor, but the furtive thought was immediately replaced by fear and anger. 

So, he ran away and never looked back until four years ago, when he visited his parents and saw him again, walking down the street to the hotel. A few months later, he divorced his wife and took over Lakevallée’s gallery.

However, his relationship with Connor didn’t improve. When he showed up at his friend’s door after an eleven-year absence, Connor let him in, but he never smiled, never granted him anything more than a wistful stare. Gabriel tried to break through, but it was pointless, Connor barely making an effort to respond to his questions at all. 

Since that day, he has slowly re-inserted himself into Connor’s life, through the gallery and their common friends, but his cowardice has held him back from trying to repair a relationship which has been damaged for too long. So, he has stayed away. 

He isn’t sure why he came today. Any other time, he would have waited an extra day for Liam to deliver the painting. But ever since the photographer started seeing Connor a couple of months ago, Gabriel has realized he can’t go on like this, since anytime Liam mentions his relationship with the painter, he feels more and more anxious, just hearing his former best friend’s name.

That's why he's here, holding the agitated man, who is still trying to escape his grip. “Stop fighting me!”

“Just let me go,” Connor shouts back.

But Gabriel can’t do that. Instead, he shoves Connor against the shelf behind him and sees the man’s gaze widen, before a daring glint enters his eyes. “What are you going to do now? Hit me?” he challenges.

“Shut up,” Gabriel orders and leans in, breathing in the man’s scent, craving something more. Yet, he remains frozen, just a few inches away from the brunet’s lips.

When nothing else happens, Connor suddenly pushes Gabriel away from him and enunciates very slowly, in a cold voice, “Get out.”

Gabriel is too astounded to say anything as he stares at his childhood friend with wide eyes. He almost kissed him, his nearness to Connor driving him wild. Not that it surprises him. Being a coward has never prevented him from knowing, deep down, what Connor really means to him. 

Yet, once more, he steps back instead of fighting for him, just standing there for a few more seconds before turning around and walking out of the house, forgetting all about the painting.

***

**_Liam’s studio, 6:10 p.m._ **

After their adventure in the early morning, Liam drove Justin back to his hotel around nine, having work to do before opening the studio to customers. They agreed to meet in the late afternoon, so that the photographer could help Justin develop the pictures he had taken that morning.

Right now, Liam is busy preparing the chemical products they’re going to use to develop the film. “Okay,” he says when all the equipment is ready. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” Justin answers, looking at the three containers, the film tank, and the developing reel.

“I’ve prepared the developing chemical, which is here,” he points at one of the jugs, “and there, you have the stop bath and the fixer. I’m going to rewind the film, pull it out of the camera, pry it open, and then roll it onto the developing reel before placing it in the tank.” Liam announces.

Justin watches the man meticulously remove the film from the camera. 

“The sprocket holes in the roll of film will fit over the prongs on the reel,” Liam informs him, demonstrating with an old, exposed roll of film, before discarding it. 

Justin nods in understanding.

“Now, turn off the light, and I’ll wrap the negatives around the reel. Since this is quite a delicate operation, I prefer to do it myself.” Liam explains.

“Okay,” Justin complies. 

After he has the film on the reel and the tank sealed, Liam switches the light back on. “Okay, now, I’m going to guide you in the next step,” he announces, placing the tank in the sink in front of Justin. “The first thing you need to know is that the chemical should be around sixty-eight degrees, no less than sixty-five, but no more than seventy-one.” Liam gives Justin a thermometer. “Go on, check.”

Justin plunges the thermometer into the container with the developing chemical. “Sixty-eight degrees,” he validates.

“Good,” Liam states. “Do your best to prevent any air bubbles from forming by pouring in the developing chemical with the tank held at an angle.”

“Like this?” Justin questions, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“Yes,” Liam nods, satisfied Justin is following his instructions correctly, and resumes, “Now, I want you to agitate the tank. I’ll use the timer and tell you when to stop and when to resume, with this part of the operation taking about seven minutes. First the developer, and then we’ll do the same with the stop bath and the fixer, although for a shorter time.”

For the next few minutes, Justin focuses on shaking the tank anytime Liam instructs him to. His heart suddenly thumps faster when Liam places his hands over his own to slow him down, whispering somewhat hoarsely, “Not too fast, okay?” 

Justin doesn’t respond, but he shivers again as Liam keeps his hands on his. It’s a simple gesture, and the blond is probably reading too much into it, but as he stares at their joined hands on the tank, he realizes how much Liam’s remind him of Brian’s. 

A surge of sadness invades him at the thought. He still misses his first lover so much, and even though it doesn’t make sense, being with Liam reinforces his grief. Is it because he feels connected to the photographer, unlike any other man since Brian? Or, is it because he can’t explain the feelings Liam evokes within him, especially since he just met him yesterday? He doesn’t even know if the man is gay, or if he remotely likes him, but what he does know is that the way he feels when he is with Liam scares him. 

“You okay?” Liam inquires, and Justin realizes he stopped moving for a few seconds.

“Sorry, I…” Justin apologizes, although he isn’t sure what to say. He resumes shaking the tank while Liam scoots back. “It’s just… you remind me of someone I knew.”

Liam doesn’t respond.

Justin isn’t sure whether he should confide in him, but he doesn’t have the time to say anything more as the photographer interjects, “Time’s up. You need to pour the developer back into its container now.”

Justin obeys, with no chance to say anything further for the duration of the film development. They repeat the same process with the stop bath and the fixer, before rinsing the tank thoroughly, tapping it against the sink to eliminate any residual air bubbles, and unwrapping the negatives from the reel. Liam unrolls the film with his hand, sliding his fingers across the negatives to remove excess moisture from the surface, before placing the film in the dryer.

“The pictures seem okay. No overly bright or dark areas from what I can see,” Liam announces as he peers at the film he’s just pulled out of the dryer. “Good job, Mr. Taylor.”

“Thanks,” Justin replies, feeling a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Look,” Liam points at the film. “You can see each image, although the colors are inverted.”

Justin approaches Liam, grazing his arm as he stares at the negatives.

“See that picture?” Liam asks, pointing at one in particular while leaning closer to Justin.

“The one with the eagle?” Justin inquires.

“Yes. I think you got a good shot.” Liam praises, although Justin isn’t sure whether that means all the others are for shit.

“Just the one?” Justin chuckles.

“Better than nothing,” Liam replies playfully, a slight smirk on his lips. “Look at the bright side. You have plenty of room for improvement.” he quips, prompting Justin to look at him in mock outrage.

At Justin’s offended gaze, Liam laughs, the first real laugh Justin has heard since he met him, and out of the blue, Justin hears Brian’s laugh echoing in his head.

“Hey,” Liam recalls his attention, noticing the blond’s demeanor change. “I was just messing with you.” he offers apologetically.

“I…” Justin shakes his head. “It’s just… I…” he tries to speak, but the words refuse to come out.

“What?” Liam prompts gently.

“You remind me so much of him,” Justin discloses bashfully. “Brian...”

Liam clears his throat uncomfortably, but repeats nonetheless, “Brian?”

“Yes,” Justin stutters, hesitating to say more, even though he wants Liam to know the truth.

Maybe then, the blond will understand why the photographer makes him feel like he is seventeen again, in love for the first time with a man who didn't want him, and yet gave him more insight about life and love than any other person he’s met in his entire life. 

“He was… he died, a few years ago. He was murdered. And I’ve been trying to move past it since then, but somehow, I never could,” Justin shares, hoping Liam will hear him. “He was my first… everything really. The first guy who fucked me, the first guy I fell in love with, and I ruined it. And then he died. He fucking died.” The blond repeats emphatically. “I was so angry at him. I think I still am. But even more, I blame myself for not realizing how much he meant to me until he was gone.” 

Liam doesn’t move or say anything, but Justin can feel the intensity of his gaze on him, and for a brief moment, he feels it, the intense beating of his heart that he has only felt once before. It overwhelms him, but even more so, Justin wants to embrace this feeling with every fiber of his being. So, he walks closer to Liam and raises his hand, needing to touch him, to know the photographer understands what he is trying to say.

“We should develop your picture,” Liam abruptly declares, stepping back to avoid Justin’s touch. “It’s getting late.”

“Liam…” Justin pronounces his name, unable to explain what is happening between them, but Liam ignores him, instead focusing on their next task. Justin sighs, surmising the man is closing off. “Liam, look at me.”

“What for?” Liam responds, a slight edge tinging his voice. “You want your photo or not?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Fuck, I’m sorry,” Justin apologizes, inwardly berating himself for his impulsive behavior.

“I’m not him, Justin,” Liam finally looks at him, his face reflecting a sadness Justin doesn’t understand.

“I know,” Justin nods. “I know you’re not Brian. But I want a chance to know you.”

Liam seems to consider Justin’s words. “Why?”

The question throws Justin off. 

“You’re here for a few days at the most. So why try to get to know each other when we both know you will be gone by the end of the week?” Liam questions. 

“Just… invite me to have dinner with you,” Justin purposely evades Liam’s valid point, because he doesn’t want to think about the future. For now, he just wants to spend more time with Liam. He knows this is insane - hell,  _ he _ is insane to think he could be in love with the photographer already - but he doesn’t care. At all. He stalked Brian before and it worked like a charm, so why not try the same proven technique on Liam?

Liam raises his eyebrows at Justin’s request, although the blond notices the ghost of a smile on his face. “You’re so bizarre, Justin Taylor,” he smirks, before demanding, “Now, come over here and place your masterpiece in the enlarger. We still have work to do.”

“Not until you promise to have me over for dinner,” Justin playfully replies.

Liam feigns annoyance at Justin’s insistence, but he finally relents, “What about this? If you can keep your mouth shut for the next half hour, I will make you dinner tomorrow night.”

“Why not tonight?” Justin inquires, elated Liam has accepted his proposal and yet not quite ready to stop harassing the photographer. 

“Because,” Liam responds with a roll of his eyes, “I’ve seen your face enough for one day.” At Justin’s deepening pout, the man chuckles and adds, “And I’m beat anyway. We need to finish enlarging your photo and then, I’m taking you back to your hotel, and I’m going to crash. You do whatever you want to do tonight, but I’m not making you dinner until tomorrow night. Take it or leave it.”

“You know how to cook, right?” Justin quips, using a very serious tone and ignoring Liam’s diatribe altogether. He is beaming inside.

Liam shakes his head. “You’re not just bizarre, you’re also a brat. Now, shut up and learn.”

Justin pretends to zip his lips with his fingers, while Liam focuses on cutting the negative they’re going to work on from the film, before placing it in the slot on the enlarger. 

 


	6. Trying to make sense of it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * As always, I want to thank Karynn for helping me with this story, and the readers for sharing their thoughts and enthusiasm with me. *
> 
> (the chapter is named after one of my favorite fic, by Kachefolen. If you haven't read it yet, you definitely should)

 

**_Liam’s chalet, Tuesday, July 21st, 7:20 a.m._ **

Liam is sitting on the swing bench, admiring the early daylight and questioning life and fate. Questioning why things happen the way they do, and if there is a reason for it all.

The PleinAir magazine is lying next to him on the bench. Gabriel had given it to Liam a few days ago, but the photographer had forgotten about it until Justin mentioned the article about the annual photography exhibition the day before. 

Liam peers down one more time at the page, staring at his reflection - at the picture of Brian standing in that gallery, very much alive. Even though his former lover didn’t recognize him at his studio, the picture actually captures a part of the man he used to be. Maybe it’s his posture, or the fact that a picture can reveal little things the mind unconsciously recognizes, but Liam is now certain Justin saw  _ him _ . And even though the blond must have thought he was crazy to believe Brian was still alive, it seems his mind is still trying to show him the truth. 

Thinking about his former lover’s confession in his studio astounds Liam, and he isn’t sure how he listened to it all without freaking out, telling the truth, or something equally stupid. The depth of Justin’s feelings for a man who is supposed to have died years ago still makes him want to cry and yell and curse the fucking rulers of the universe for putting both of them through so much pain. And the worst part is, the nightmare is never-ending, Liam having to lie and pretend, when all he wants to do is take the blond in his arms and tell him everything is going to be okay, that none of it was real. But it is, so vividly real and unfair. 

Next to the magazine, Liam has placed the prepaid phone he only uses to contact Horvath. No matter what happens from now on, he needs to inform the detective about his discovery and try to come up with a plan if things turn to shit again. So, he grabs it and fidgets with the keys for a moment, before finally calling the detective’s number.

“Horvath,” the cop greets him curtly after the second ring.

“It’s Liam,” the photographer answers, the false name easily slipping from his lips. 

“You okay?” Horvath immediately inquires, Liam hearing the genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Liam dismisses the query. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve discovered why Justin Taylor is in Lakevallée.”

“We haven’t found out anything,” Horvath discloses. “What have you learned?”

“He saw a picture in a magazine. PleinAir magazine,” Liam reveals as he picks up the folded magazine and quickly looks at it again, before letting it fall back on the bench. “I never realized they took a shot in which I appeared. Justin must have seen something in that picture and decided to look for me, though, considering he’s here.”

“Oh…” Horvath is obviously at a loss. “This is why he is in Lakevallée? Because he saw a photo of you in a magazine?”

“Yeah. It’s just as random as that,” Liam clarifies with a snorts. “No evil machinations or manipulations by the bad guys.”

“Hmm,” Horwath sounds dubious, but he lets it go for now, asking instead, “Would anyone else recognize you?” 

“No,” Liam instantly replies. “I mean, it’s very unlikely.”

“Why would Taylor have recognized you then?” Horvath interrogates, puzzled by Liam’s answer.

“Because he is obsessed with me?” Liam half-quips, although from what Justin told him the previous evening, he is not that far from the truth. “Justin knew me. Intimately,” he asserts. “And besides, he must think his theory is crazy, since there is no indication he really believes I could be Brian.”

There is a silence at the other end of the phone, and Liam hears Horvath clear his throat. “I take it you talked to him then?” the detective finally inquires.

“I did,” Liam confirms. He doesn’t want to discuss it, however, so he doesn’t wait for Horvath’s answer, volunteering, “I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything new.”

“Brian…” Horvath cautions, apparently not realizing he has used his real name, “be careful, okay? I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but you need to protect yourself, and with Justin back in your life-”

“I’m a big boy, Horvath,” Liam cuts him off, immediately feeling his natural defensiveness kick in. “Why don’t you focus on your job, do what you’re paid for, and let me handle my life? Or, you know, what little life I still have.” he derisively inquires, enunciating the words in a low voice.

Horvath must surmise what Liam is really implying, because he assures him, “We will catch him, Liam. Sooner or later, we will.”

“Whatever. I need to go.” Liam dismisses him, not ready for yet another pity speech from the detective. He’s heard enough of them. From Horvath and from Agents Bennett and Allen, the only other two people who know he is alive apart from the US Marshals Service. He is sick of having to listen to their empty promises, to their ‘one day it will be over’, a simple sentence that doesn’t mean anything at all. It will never be over. Even if they catch Malone, Liam won’t get all those years back, already branded for life by the ordeal he has been forced to endure. Do they really think he will be able to return to his former life? Or are they just plain cruel, giving him just enough hope so that he won’t crumble and kill himself for real? 

“You call me if you need anything. I mean that,” Horvath declares, obviously feeling Liam is closing off. “Whenever you need, Son.”

Liam doesn’t reply and hangs up, too overwhelmed by a sudden sadness to trust himself to respond to the detective’s words of support. “Fuck you,” he eventually whispers into the quietness of the morning, before standing up and heading back inside.

***

**_Decunn Hotel, 8:40 a.m_ **

Connor knocks on the door of room eighteen, and waits for Justin Taylor to open it, hearing a bang followed by a muttered “Shit!” coming from inside. A few seconds later, the door opens, revealing a half-naked blond.

“Sorry,” Justin offers, tucking his towel more tightly around his waist, his body still damp from the shower.

Connor gazes at the blond appreciatively, purring playfully, “Hello, Mr. Taylor. What a fine way to greet me this morning. Your breakfast in bed awaits, as requested. And I added an extra bonus...” he pauses while Justin raises his eyes suspiciously. With a grin, the painter boasts, indicating himself with his hand, “Me.”

Justin rolls his eyes at the blatant pick-up line, before gesturing for Connor to wheel the cart inside. “Come in,”

“I’ll gladly come,” Connor jests, noticing the slight flush on the blond’s cheeks as he walks inside and closes the door behind him. “So, Mr. Taylor,” he again pronounces his name mischievously, inquiring, “How are you enjoying your stay in Lakevallée so far?”

“Do you always openly hit on your guests?” Justin asks, amused by the man’s attitude. 

“Only the ones who’re gay.” Connor responds with a shrug. “There’s not a lot of queers in this burg.”

“Am I so obvious?” Justin replies as he goes to the bathroom to get dressed.

“Please, I have eyes.” Connor answers, his gaze sweeping around the room. He walks to the table where a couple of sheets of paper and the PleinAir magazine are lying, picking up the pages to peruse them briefly, before grabbing the magazine to leaf through the article about the annual photography exhibition. “And from the way you reacted to Liam at the studio, I’d have to be blind not to figure out you’re one of us.”

“One of us? You mean, Liam is gay?” Justin questions as he appears a few seconds later, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a dark blue shirt, and leans against the door frame to the bathroom. Connor drops the magazine and stares at him, unsurprised when he notices the look on Justin’s face, confirming that the blond already suspected it.

“You know he is.” Connor announces, before pouring some hot coffee into a cup and taking a sip.

“Please, have a drink, why don’t you?” Justin deadpans, a small smile on his face. “And since I’m paying, why don’t you pour me a cup?”

“I’m not your servant,” Connor counters, his brow furrowing as he complies with Justin’s request. “Oh, wait. Technically, I am. Fuck, I hate this job.”

“Why are you here then?” Justin accepts the cup Connor hands him. “I thought you were a painter.”

“I’m helping my mom.” Connor discloses, snatching a croissant from the basket. He engulfs half of it in one go, raising his eyebrows and offering the other half to Justin, mumbling, his mouth full, “Ya want som?”

“No,” Justin snorts, selecting a croissant that Connor hasn’t eaten half of. He takes a bite and closes his eyes in appreciation, relishing the taste. “This is delicious.”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, stealing a piece of the croissant Justin is eating directly from his hand.

“Hey!” Justin pushes Connor away. “What was that for? You haven’t finished your own yet.”

“What’s the fun in eating something that’s yours?” Connor argues, smirking. “Have you never noticed that food tastes so much better when you steal it?”

“You’re fucking weird,” Justin asserts with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, you need to be if you want to survive in our charming town,” Connor claims. “So, Liam…”

“What about him?” Justin inquires, standing far enough from Connor that the man can’t easily steal more of his breakfast.

“Has he fucked you yet?” 

Justin’s bite of croissant goes down the wrong pipe at the man’s query, so much so that he sits onto the bed, coughing a couple of times until he swallows and succeeds in catching his breath. The painter comes to sit next to him, patting the blond on the back.

“Hey. Don’t die on me,” Connor quips, although he takes advantage of Justin’s momentary discomfort to steal another piece of the croissant from him.

“Are you always so blunt?” Justin finally manages to mumble.

“I try my best,” Connor responds, popping the piece of croissant into his mouth, making sure Justin is watching as he does. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Why do you want to know if Liam fucked me?” Justin questions. “Why would you even care?”

“Haven’t you heard of gossip?” Connor drawls. “Besides, he’s a great lay. You’d be a fool not to fuck him. I know he isn’t the handsomest guy ever, but I assure you, once he’s naked, it’s an entirely different story. And you should see his big-”

“I don’t want to know!” Justin exclaims, standing up. 

“Why not? From what I saw the other day, it seems like you experienced lust - maybe even love - at first sight.” Connor teases. “Although, I must warn you. Liam is not the most talkative guy I know, or the most demonstrative for that matter.”

“What do you know about him?” Justin inquires, choosing to move the conversation in another direction.

“Not much,” Connor shrugs. “He settled down here almost three years ago, doesn’t have any friends or family that I know of. He is one hell of a photographer, though, and only has one friend here.”

“Gabriel, the gallery owner?” Justin surmises.

“Yeah, Gabriel,” Connor echoes, his face closing off at the mention of his childhood friend. “Gabriel fucking Harrington.”

Justin frowns at Connor’s tone, but he lets it go. “And what about you?” he asks instead.

“What about me?” Connor immediately retorts.

“Are you in love with Liam?” Justin blurts out, berating himself for feeling jealous, since it’s obvious the painter has been Liam’s lover and maybe still is.

“Me? In love with Liam?” Connor repeats, staring at Justin for a few seconds as if the mere notion that he could feel something so strong for the photographer is ludicrous. “No, I’m not.”

“So why do you want to know how I feel about him?” Justin insists.

“No special reason,” Connor shrugs, finally getting up from the bed. “I’m just curious.” He heads to the door, declaring, “Well, it’s been lovely and all, but some of us have to work. I can’t stay here and chat all day, no matter how much you wish I would.”

Justin shakes his head at the man’s boldness. “You’re the chatty one, not me. Besides, you stole half my breakfast.”

“Are you going to tell my mommy?” Connor smirks, before saying in a jesting tone, “Have a great day, Mr. Taylor.”

Justin stares at the door after Connor has closed it behind himself, wondering what just happened.

***

**_Liam’s studio, 11:10 a.m._ **

Liam places the framed black and white photo of the majestic eagle Justin shot the previous morning on his desk, smiling softly. The picture is luminous, which doesn’t surprise Liam, considering his former lover always had an eye for beauty. Carefully, he encases it in bubble wrap and sets it aside. He then peers at his computer screen and starts scrolling through some digital photos he took a few days ago, but the sound of his doorbell resonates through the studio, indicating a visitor is waiting for him outside.

With a sign, Liam stands up and walks to his office door, looking through the glass-paned front door to check who’s there, frowning when he discovers a man staring off into the distance, a cap covering his hair and a camera hanging around his neck. As the man glances in his direction, however, he recognizes Agent Allen and freezes.

The man sees him and knocks loudly, demanding, “Byron, let me in.”

Liam obeys, quickly crossing the open space and unlocking the door, allowing the man to enter his studio. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he inquires as his gaze sweeps across the street to check if anyone has seen them, before guiding the man to his private office.

“I heard you had a visitor,” Allen replies, looking around the room and removing the cap from his head. 

“So?” Liam can’t help it. He hates knowing the FBI always feels the need to invade his life.

“So? You’re in a witness protection program provided by the U.S. Marshals Service, and you find it normal to have a man who knew you before you were ‘murdered’ arriving in town out of the blue?” Allen retorts disapprovingly.

“And your point is?” Liam snaps.

“My point is,” Allen enunciates, “we need to know if this is related to our case.”

“This has nothing to do with your case.” Liam asserts, busying himself with reorganizing some papers on his desk.

“Are you naive?” Allen counters. “Why would Taylor be here for no reason?”

“He has a reason,” Liam contradicts, throwing the PleinAir magazine he brought back from the chalet at Allen. “Here,” he points at the article. “This is his reason. But if you’d called our mutual friend, you’d already know that since I informed him about it this morning.”

“He told me,” Allen discloses, grabbing the magazine to look at the picture that started this whole mess. “But I still have a hard time believing in coincidence. Besides, I can barely recognize you, so how could he?”

“I don’t know!” Liam is losing patience now. 

“You’ve talked to him, right? What did he say?” Allen probes, not impressed that Liam is losing his temper.

“Nothing. He didn’t recognize me if that’s what you’re worried about,” Liam grunts.

“You’re sure?” Allen questions. “If he didn’t already, it’s only a matter of time. You can’t fuck this up, Brian.”

“Now, I’m Brian?” Liam derisively answers. “Fuck you, Allen!”

“Hey! Don’t take it out on me! We wouldn't be in this mess if-”

“If what? If I’d actually died?” Liam interrupts, fulminating. 

“That is not what I meant,” Allen responds semi-apologetically, gesturing at the photographer with his hand, before taking a deep breath to calm down. Bracing both palms on the desk, he gazes up at Liam and insists, “Listen, if Taylor recognizes you or tells you something that could open a lead for our case, you need to call me immediately, understood? Not Horvath, not Bennett, but me.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Liam denies, hating the idea of Justin being involved in his mess.

“That’s what you think now. But if he does, you call me. And that’s final,” Allen orders, before adding, “if you care about your life at all, that is, because - believe it or not - we all have the same goal - to keep you safe.”

“No,” Liam refutes. “You want to arrest the guy that has made you sweat for years, but you don’t give a shit about me.”

“I’m going to chalk that one up to your distressing situation,” Allen allows. “Of course, we all want this nightmare to be over. Don’t you dare doubt me.”

“Whatever,” Liam dismisses him. “Are we done?” he asks with a false smile.

“For now,” Allen  concedes, picking up his cap from Liam’s desk. “But this isn’t over,” he asserts before walking to the door. He halts, though, turning back to look at Liam. “One last thing I thought you’d want to know. Your mother passed away a couple of days ago. They said it was a brain aneurysm,” he reports, a seemingly genuine look of sympathy appearing on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Joan?” Liam breathes out, his heart pounding.

“Yes,” Allen confirms. “Your sister found her in bed at home. It was most likely instantaneous. She didn’t suffer at all.”

Liam doesn’t respond, staring at the FBI agent in shock. Allen gives him a small nod, before walking out of his office and exiting the studio.

***

**_Dove Point, 12:10 p.m._ **

After parking his rental in the Point’s lot, Justin strides through the woods for ten minutes and finally reaches his destination. He notices a few people are hiking in the valley, coming to and going from the Point. Approaching the cliff, he smiles, admiring the landscape and listening to the waterfall. He has already fallen in love with this place. 

He treads carefully as he travels down the winding path from the mountain. Losing all notion of time, he walks for almost an hour before turning back toward the Point. As he marches closer, he slows down when he sees a man sitting on a rock facing the lake, recognizing Gabriel. The gallery owner keeps peering up at the natural beauty of the valley and then down at the sketchbook in his hands. Justin hesitates only briefly before heading over him.

“Hey,” Justin greets the man with a broad smile as he sits next to him.

“Oh, hi!” Gabriel responds as he gazes over at Justin. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just walking around, enjoying the view,” Justin responds. “The valley surrounding Lakevallée is so beautiful.”

“It is,” Gabriel agrees. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay.”

“I truly am,” Justin confirms, bracing his hands on his thighs and gazing into the distance.

“Did you succeed in finding Liam the other day?” Gabriel inquires conversationally as he looks down one more time at his drawing.

“I did. In fact, I even convinced him to teach me how to shoot a decent picture. He is the one who showed me the Point,” Justin elaborates.

“He did?” Gabriel asks in a puzzled voice. “Well, you must have made quite an impression for him to accede to your request. He usually flees from tourists like they’re the plague.”

“Hmm,” Justin doesn’t react much to Gabriel’s statement. “It’s a shame. He’s a great teacher.”

“Don’t tell me he acted civil, too,” Gabriel deadpans. 

Justin chuckles. “He isn’t so bad when he pulls the stick out of his ass and actually manages to form a sentence of more than two words.” He then peers at the sketch Gabriel is working on and asks, “What are you drawing?”

“I’m trying to capture this part of the lake,” Gabriel answers, pointing to his right. “The way the water crashes against that stone over there.”

Justin follows Gabriel’s signal, his eyes traveling from the landscape to the paper. “You need to show more movement over here,” he advises, before inquiring, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” Gabriel hands him his drawing, watching in fascination as Justin picks up the charcoal and demonstrates his point.

“See?” Justin’s fingers are moving naturally, easily adding structure and essence to the drawing. “You need to feel the way the water meets the stone, to consider they’re alive, joining as if they are one. You can’t draw one without the other, and the lines...” Justin adds some more strokes to the drawing, “the lines needs to fade into each other, especially if you’re using charcoal. Blur them with your finger, but not too much, so the white on the paper stands out and creates the illusion of life.” Justin describes with passion.

Gabriel stares at Justin’s hand, at the natural movement of the artist engrossed in his creation. After a couple of minutes, Justin stops and places the charcoal aside, handing the sketch back to Gabriel.

“Wow,” Gabriel comments as he peers at the result of Justin’s frenzy. “You’re a much better artist than I am.”

“I…” Justin stammers, only realizing now what he has just done. “I haven’t created anything in years.”

“Why not?” Gabriel questions, still staring at the sketch. “I’m a poor artist, but I recognize talent when I see it.”

“Well, I haven’t been inspired in a long time,” Justin offers by way of explanation. The truth is, he is completely bewildered by what he just drew without a second thought, when he hasn’t touched a paintbrush or a pencil in years. And even more astounding, he feels good about it. Hell, he doesn’t just feel good - he is elated.

“It seems your inspiration is coming back,” Gabriel comments knowingly. “If you ever decide to draw or paint again - whatever you’d like to do, I’d be happy to take a look and tell you if it’s worth exhibiting.”

“I don’t know if I will, but thanks,” Justin responds politely, although he is beaming.

“You want a pad?” Gabriel proposes. “I have some extra charcoal in my bag.”

Justin considers Gabriel’s offer for a few seconds, before responding, “Sure,” figuring there is no harm drawing for fun. Besides, he’s missed sketching.

“Okay,” Gabriel reaches for his bag. “Here, a charcoal,” he hands it to Justin before retrieving another pad. “And an extra sketchbook.”

Justin thanks Gabriel and opens the pad, noticing a few drawings that, even though they’re not very well executed, resemble Connor. He doesn’t comment on them, however, not wanting to intrude, instead opening the sketchpad to a blank page.

***

**_Liam’s chalet, 6:45 p.m._ **

Liam enters the house, heading to the kitchen to put away the food he just bought at the grocery store. Opening the bags, he pulls out the chicken breasts along with some carrots and onions, before grabbing a cutting board and a knife. Then, he places everything on the counter and begins to chop. Justin is supposed to drive around 7:00 p.m.

Ever since Allen’s visit, his mind has been screaming at him, but he fears he will fall apart if he truly lets go. He spent all afternoon trying to distract himself with work, but he barely made it through the day. Now, as hard as he tries, he can’t keep the unwanted images from returning, as he recalls the last time he saw Joan, the last words he said to her, more than six years ago.

_ “Fuck the Lord. And fuck you...” _

His mother truly believed he was a child molester, a pervert condemned to hell, who, of course, would sink so low as to abuse a child since he fucked men. He still remembers the way he felt, the last bit of hope that vanished as he listened to the woman who was supposed to love him for who he was - to protect him - condemning him instead and wishing he would be locked up, as if that were the easiest way to cope with her gay son. He hates her for believing he was guilty, using the Lord to justify her position. He hates himself even more for hoping she would love him enough to believe in his innocence. But most of all, he detests himself for caring about the fact that she’s gone.

“Fuck!” Liam yells as the knife slices into his skin, a sharp pain pulsing from his thumb. “Fuck!” he repeats, although anger laces his voice this time.

“Liam?” Justin’s voice calls from the front door, just as the photographer walks to the sink to turn on the water, letting it pour over his finger. 

Liam hears the blond enter the chalet, the sound of his steps echoing on the living room floor, coming closer.

“Hey, are you okay?” Justin asks in concern. Liam is standing still in front of the sink, blood dripping from his hand. Justin walks over to him, peering at the scene. “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit,” Liam retorts irritably, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He feels like he is suffocating, although Justin’s presence appeases him somehow.

“Where’s the bathroom? I’ll get something to stop the bleeding,” Justin proposes, divesting himself of his jacket and carelessly placing it on the counter. “Here, let me take a look.”

“I’m fine,” Liam resists, feeling like a fool for letting his emotions fuck with his mind.

“Just let me help,” Justin insists in a demanding voice as he grabs a sheet from a roll of paper towel, carefully taking hold of Liam’s hand and wrapping the paper towel around his thumb. “Here. Press down on the skin. And let me get something to clean this up.”

Liam swallows. Justin’s fingers feel warm against his wet hand, comforting. He eventually caves, “The bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

“Okay,” Justin nods. “I’ll be right back,” he announces, before striding across the living room and disappearing down the hall leading to the bathroom. A minute later, he reappears with some disinfectant, a couple compresses, and a few bandages.

“Sit there,” he orders, indicating the couch. 

Liam complies, but he can’t help balking. “I can do it. You don’t need to take care of me.”

Justin actually smiles. “Since I’m the one who coerced you into making me dinner, I beg to disagree,” he quips, as he sprays the disinfectant on a compress. “Give me your hand.”

Liam slowly places his hand in Justin’s palm. 

The blond carefully removes the paper towel from the wound. “You’re still bleeding,” he comments, pressing the compress against the photographer’s skin.

It stings, but Liam merely flinches, declaring, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a cut.”

“I don’t care,” Justin counters, removing the now bloody compress to replace it with another one, pressing some more, “if it means I can take care of you.”

“Why?” Liam asks, narrowing his eyes while feeling his heart thump at Justin’s statement. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

“I’m an artist. I don’t need a reason.” Justin responds with a mischievous grin that reminds Liam so much of the seventeen-year-old boy he met so long ago. “I just want to. Now shut up and let me finish.”

Liam offers Justin a small smile of his own and stays still, his hand in Justin’s.

  
  



	7. Rendez-vous at the chalet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A huge thanks to my beta for editing this chapter with me (it was a tough one to write, and Karynn is truly the most patient beta ever for bearing with my constant changes). Also, my deepest gratitude to the readers for their encouragement *

**_Liam’s chalet, Tuesday, July 21st, 7:30 p.m._ **

“Careful,” Justin chides, as Liam stubbornly finishes cutting the vegetables for their dinner. “I can do it.”

“And I can do it too. In case you forgot, you’re my guest.” Liam counters, finally adding the last carrot to the wok, where the chicken breasts and the onions are already stewing in a tarragon-basil sauce. “There, it’s cooking. Now, we wait. Want a drink?”

“Sure,” Justin nods. “Whatever you’re having.”

“Whisky? Or I can crack open a bottle of wine.” Liam proposes, grabbing a bottle of red Bordeaux he purchased earlier that day.

“Save it for the chicken.” Justin suggests. “I could go for a glass of water for now.”

“Water it is,” Liam intones, opening a cabinet and retrieving two glasses. He pours water into one and hands it to the blond, before heading to the living room and taking a bottle of bourbon from the shelf. Pouring the drink into one tumbler, he raises it, and toasts, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Justin responds, before taking a sip, while Liam gulps his Beam in one go, immediately pouring another.

“You okay?” Justin inquires. Liam has seemed off ever since he arrived. He isn’t sure what happened, since the photographer was fine when he left him the previous day.

“I’m fine,” Liam dismisses his concern, walking to the door. Turning around, he gazes at Justin, “Come outside. We can watch the sunset together,” he offers a bit sardonically, not waiting for Justin’s answer before exiting the chalet.

Justin frowns but goes after Liam. As he looks around, he sees the photographer sitting on a bench on the porch, swinging back and forth while staring into the distance. Following his gaze, he marvels at the beauty of this place. The chalet may be rustic, but the nature surrounding it speaks to his artistic soul. It’s both stimulating and appeasing.

Justin sits next to Liam, not saying anything. He stares away too, the light of the day slowly fading, the colors of the sky changing as the sun descends toward the horizon. After a couple of minutes, though, he peers up at his companion, noticing he is looking right at him. “What?” he asks almost bashfully. Even though Liam’s eyes are mostly hidden by his glasses, Justin shivers under the man’s intense stare.

Liam shakes his head, dismissing the question, before glancing away again.

“Liam,” Justin breathes out, now more than ever convinced that something is wrong. It’s true he doesn’t know the man, but somehow, he can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in the photographer’s mind. He can tell he is upset, can feel it in his bones, which is strange since Liam is right - Justin knows next to nothing about him. He doesn’t know where he comes from, if he has a family, or why he lives in Lakevallée. Before Connor’s visit to his hotel room that morning, he couldn't tell if the man was straight or gay, even though he is somehow sure Liam is attracted to him. Truthfully, Justin doesn’t understand his own attraction to the man, but he can’t help the way he feels whenever he is with him. And yes, Liam reminds him of Brian, so fucking much. It’s painful, but it’s also liberating, even though it doesn’t make sense.

Liam peers down, his gaze empty. He takes another sip of his Beam and looks up at Justin. The blond can feel the man struggling with an inner sadness. Needing to do something to push Liam into accepting that he genuinely cares, Justin covers the man’s hand and squeezes briefly, giving him a small nod of support.

Liam doesn’t move except to glance down at their joined hands, but when Justin withdraws his own, the photographer finally discloses in a whisper, “I lost someone today.”

“Who?” Justin questions softly, feeling a pang in his chest.

“Does it matter?” Liam asks, his lips curling upward. The smile fades, though, his gaze lost in the depths of his glass.

“Liam, I-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Liam cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Just let it go.”

Justin is puzzled by the man’s confession, but he senses that pushing him to confide more is not what Liam needs right now. He therefore decides to move the conversation in a different direction and declares, “I drew today. I hadn’t drawn in years.”

“You did?” Liam acknowledges. “Why hadn’t you…” he asks, but the look on Justin’s face tells him all he needs to know.

“I haven’t felt like it. Not since, well… you know,” Justin enunciates, knowing Liam understands what - or more precisely who - he is talking about. “When Brian died, my inspiration died along with him. I couldn’t draw for shit. I dropped out of school, and… I did things I’m not proud of today.”

“What kind of things?” Liam inquires quietly.

Justin shrugs as he confesses, “I fell apart, mostly. I started hanging out with the wrong guys, doing drugs. I just wanted to forget for a little while...” he explains, peering at Liam’s face, although his expression is indecipherable. But he feels like he can share that part of his life with him, that the man will listen, so he continues, “And I became one of those pathetic addicts who only craves his next fix, and who would do anything to get it.”

“That’s fucked up,” Liam comments, still not glancing at him.

“Yeah…” Justin agrees. “Grief is such a fucked-up thing.”

Liam snorts at Justin’s statement, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his thighs. He seems to debate about something, but in the end, he eventually mutters, “It was my mom,” as he stares at the ground.

As he realizes what Liam is talking about, Justin echoes, astounded by the man’s revelation, “Your mom died?”

“Yeah,” Liam whispers, sitting still for a moment. Justin doesn’t know how to react, although his heart is thumping in his chest. He can’t imagine losing his mother. A mom is such an important part of a man’s life, the person who gives you life, feeds you, makes sure you grow up ready to face the world. So, what do you say in moments like this? No words of comfort are enough, as much as Justin wants them to be. But he doesn’t have the time to think about what he wants to say, anyway, because Liam suddenly stands up. “I need to check the wok. And this conversation is way too joyful to have it sober. You want another glass of water?” he asks, raising his empty glass.

“Sure,” Justin nods, leaning back on the bench as soon as Liam disappears inside. Thinking about Liam’s revelation some more, he feels sad for the man, he really does, but he’s also bewildered, especially since Connor told him nobody knew anything about Liam’s family. The more Justin gets to know the brunet, the more he feels like the man is a mystery, as if he is hiding. From what, however, he can’t tell. Liam is always so guarded, careful not to reveal too much about himself, even though he invited the blond to his home. It’s obvious he doesn’t really want to talk about his mom. But he just lost her, how can he not want to?

Justin doesn’t have time to mull it over any longer, as his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans, indicating an incoming call. Hastily retrieving his cell, he smiles when he discovers the identity of the caller, answering cheerfully, “Hey, Michael.”

He is too focused on the phone call to notice Liam standing in the doorway, frozen in place.

***

Liam steps back. He leans against the door, closing his eyes as he listens to Justin talk to his former best friend.

He is going to freak out. It’s inevitable, knowing his mother is dead, that his former lover has gone through hell because of him, and that if he doesn't get a better grip on himself, it's only a matter of time before the truth comes out. And then, what will he do? Better yet, what is he doing? The more time he spends with Justin, the more difficult it will be to let him go, but he has to, because he can’t let the blond get too close. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to Justin, merely because he was stupid enough to think that he could handle the lie.

Letting his head fall back, Liam takes a deep breath, trying to calm down when all he wants to do is to punch something. He walks back to the counter to set the glasses down and turns off the wok. Then, he tries to think of a plan to get Justin out of here, but his mind is blank. He can’t just tell him to fuck off, not without making Justin more suspicious. The photographer is sure the blond is already questioning his behavior, probably asking himself what is wrong with him. Here is a man who confided in him about his dead lover, confessing his undying love for the guy, not understanding why he feels so connected to a man he barely knows, and what is Liam doing? Giving him seeds of hope when there is none. Fuck, he is such an asshole.

“Liam?” Justin’s voice startles him. He’s been too busy queening out to notice the blond finished his conversation and is now standing in the doorway, staring at him quizzically.

“What?” Liam rasps hoarsely.

“You… need some help?” Justin offers, although Liam has a feeling this isn’t what he wanted to ask.

Liam takes a deep breath. “I think you should go,” he finally declares because he doesn’t know what else to say.

The brunet expects Justin to argue with him about this announcement. Justin surprises him, however, when he steps closer and simply raises a hand to touch his face. Liam is so stunned that he doesn’t react, other than to close his eyes at the light touch.

“Liam,” Justin repeats his name, this time almost reverently. Liam feels fingers traveling across his skin, feathering through his beard, and he struggles to breathe, trying to calm his pounding heart. Only when Justin gets closer and tries to take him in his arms, does he snap out of his trance and suddenly step back.

“No,” he shakes his head, distancing himself further from the blond. “You need to go,” he reiterates, before walking toward the living room.

“Why?” he hears Justin ask. “At least tell me why.”

Liam turns around to look at Justin, who is still standing near the kitchen counter, and for a split second, he wants to tell him the truth.

But he can’t, so he simply goes for, “I can’t.”

Justin’s face hardens at his words. “That’s bullshit,” he asserts, stalking over to Liam. “You’re afraid.”

“I am not,” Liam denies, trying to evade Justin, but the younger man doesn’t let him.

“You’re fucking terrified,” Justin is shouting now, as he follows him back into the kitchen. “Look at me!”

Liam snorts sarcastically, stopping and turning around. “You don’t know anything about me!” he exclaims into Justin’s face, not recognizing his own voice.

“I want to!” Justin persists. “You’re the one who won’t even try!”

“Oh, fuck you!” Liam growls. “I don’t need you. In fact, I don’t want you here. So get out!” he grabs Justin’s arm and pushes him toward the door, not allowing the blond to respond before shoving him outside and slamming the door in his face.

“Fuck you!” Justin shouts kicking the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells, hitting the surface with the palm of his hand.

Liam stands still then steps back, glaring at the door, before storming down the hall.

He enters his bedroom and paces, rubbing his face, stunned to have shut Justin out. He can feel unwanted energy filling every cell of his body, and he wants to lash out so violently that he thinks he is going crazy. Justin is right. He is terrified of what is going to happen, or more accurately, what might happen. It’s more than how he feels about his former lover, which is complicated enough, but his presence makes Liam realize he could end up waiting for years, maybe for the rest of his life, to be free. Being with Justin reminds him of all he’s lost, all the people he left behind. Sure, he always acted like he didn’t care in the past, like he could move on without looking back, and maybe it was true back then, that he could have escaped to a new life and been satisfied with his decision. But today? He dreams of being Brian Kinney again, stuck in Pittsburgh with his annoying best friends and their families, with his son, who will be nine years old in a month and probably doesn’t remember what his father looks like anymore.

And Justin… spending time with him without being able to reveal who he really is, knowing the lie could destroy them both, is messing with his mind.

He finally sits on his bed and forces himself to breathe slowly, in and out, several times. He continues until the need to smash something slowly fades. Focusing on positive thoughts as much as he can, he tries to grasp how he feels when he shoots a photograph, when he is out there alone observing and listening to nature. He never thought he would come to appreciate this skill so much, but he now believes this is what has saved him. His false identity is not a coincidence. Being a photographer has always been a secret fantasy of his, because although he may be a poor artist with a pencil or a paintbrush, he is nonetheless creative, always has been. Advertising made him feel high. Taking a picture gives him a sense of peace, even though it’s an illusion.

A few minutes elapse before Liam peers over at the clock on his nightstand, which indicates it’s 8:40 p.m. He feels calmer, but not calm enough, and he hesitates briefly before heading for the bathroom and turning on the shower, hoping this will help him relax a bit more.

He doesn’t know how long he stays under the spray. By the time he steps out of the stall, the skin on his hands is wrinkled and he feels more tired, almost drained. He dries himself off and dons a pair of sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a green sweater before putting back on his eyeglasses and his cap - two of the three accessories he always wears, except when sleeping or bathing. Heading to the living room, he walks past the small window in the hall, and halts. Stepping back, he sees it, Justin’s rental, still parked in front of the chalet.

He saunters over to the front door and slams it open, muttering, “What the…” His words die out as he discovers the blond is still there, sitting on the bench, both his knees bent in front of him, his arms around his legs.

Liam is so surprised Justin didn’t leave after his outburst that he doesn’t even start another argument, asking drily instead, “What are you still doing here?”

“I was waiting for you. My jacket is inside,” Justin responds as if the photographer didn’t behave like a madman earlier by throwing him out so unexpectedly. Liam doesn’t buy that Justin would have stayed for such a trivial reason, though, and gives him a pointed look, prompting the blond to admit, “I didn’t want to leave like that. I’m supposed to fly back tomorrow.”

“Oh…” Liam is at a loss. He didn’t know this was supposed to be their last time together, but he’s had a hard time thinking at all ever since Justin appeared at his studio two days ago.

“Oh?” Justin repeats sardonically. “That’s the best you can do?”

“What do you want me to say?” Liam retorts defensively, his hand resting on the door frame. He winces, feeling like a dickhead for subjecting Justin to his shitty mood and his inability to deal with his mother’s death, along with everything else.

But he can’t restrain himself, although something must show on his face, since Justin ignores his outburst, patting the bench next to himself and demanding, “Come here.” He gazes up at Liam, daring the man not to comply.

Liam hesitates, but in the end, he moves toward Justin, quietly sitting next to him.

They don’t talk, just watch the horizon until the last ray of sun disappears, prompting Liam to turn on the light in the living room as well as the one for the porch. Once he’s back on the veranda, he observes Justin, trying to figure out what is going on in his head, but the blond just sits there, his face not revealing anything. And at that moment, Liam experiences this strange feeling, realizing he may have changed since his supposed death, but that Justin is not the man he used to be either. There is a strength emanating from him, something indefinable that renders Liam’s attempts to stay away futile, because in the end, all the brunet wants is for Justin not to leave.

A deep sigh escapes his lips and he breathes out, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

Justin nods. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have. But your mom died, so…” his voice trails off, as the brunet understands the loss of his mother is only half the reason why Justin hasn’t concluded he’s merely a raging asshole.

Truthfully, Liam is dying to know what Justin is thinking about, but he can’t risk asking, so he clears his throat and questions instead, “When do you leave tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. Around noon probably,” Justin replies, drawing his legs closer to his chest. “Or maybe I’ll stay and squat on your couch.”

His response brings a small smile to Liam’s face, as he snorts, inquiring, “What about your lovely room at the Decunn Hotel?”

“I could ask Connor if a room is available. I’m sure he would be happy to find one for me.” Justin volunteers.

“You’ve seen Connor?” Liam inquires, his eyebrows rising. He wasn’t aware the blond had seen him since they all met at his studio.

“Oh, yeah.” Justin confirms. “He’s quite a character. He actually wanted to know if we had already fucked.”

“What?” Liam exclaims. “Why the fuck did he ask you that?”

“No idea,” Justin shrugs. “I thought he was in love with you.”

“Connor isn’t in love with me. He’s in love with his childhood friend.” At Justin’s interrogative stare, Liam elucidates, “Gabriel…”

Justin frowns. “Gabriel? Really?”

“Yeah. Not that it’s any of your business. Or mine,” Liam counters curtly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Justin hums in agreement, gazing away and rubbing his hands along his bare arms.

Peering at the blond, Liam notices the man’s shivering. “You cold?”

“Yeah,” Justin answers. “I should go get my jacket.”

“Don’t bother,” Liam pulls off his sweater and sets it across Justin’s shoulders without thinking, moving closer to the blond and placing one arm around him.

“You’re going to get cold,” Justin protests, leaning into Liam’s touch.

“I’ll grab another sweater if I do,” Liam replies, letting Justin’s head rest on his shoulder, while he keeps an arm around the blond. He shouldn’t do this. Initiating physical contact is the dumbest idea he’s had, but he can’t resist, and soon, he is moving his hand up and down Justin’s arm gently. It’s so unreal, being here with the blond, feeling his former lover lean against him. But he’s craved the touch of the young man’s skin ever since he saw him on the monitor two days ago. He really is a lost cause when Justin is concerned. Always has been.

“Can I ask you a question?” Justin asks after a couple minutes of comfortable silence.

Liam is tempted to say no, since answering questions is exactly what he needs to avoid, but he caves, “Okay,”

“Do you want me to leave?” Justin whispers.

Liam’s hand stills on Justin’s arm. The blond must feel the tension in his body, because he leans back to look at him.

Liam forces himself to act as casual as possible, answering Justin’s query with a simple, “No.”

He knows he should lie. He lies every day of his life but this - whatever they have right now - is real, making him feel more alive than he has in a long time. The lie about his death - about who he is - is already enough.

Justin smiles at his response, and Liam instinctively knows the blond wants to kiss him. He can read it in his eyes, in the way his lips slowly part, as a slight tension invades his body. And God help him, but Liam wants to feel those lips he’s come to love and to abandon himself to his deepest desires.

But as much as he wants it to happen, and even though he just confessed something he shouldn’t have, he can’t give in. There is no doubt in his mind that Justin will recognize him if they touch, even more so if they have sex. Liam may have succeeded in disguising his appearance and in becoming a stranger to the people around him, but his feelings are the same. If he touches Justin, the blond will know, because Brian Kinney was already in love back then.

That hasn’t changed.

So, before Justin’s lips can cover his, Liam leans back, evading the blond’s touch, and stands up, claiming, “We should go inside. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Justin seems taken aback by Liam’s sudden change of heart, proclaiming he wants the blond to stay one second before pushing him away the next. But whatever the blond sees in his face prompts him to remain quiet, for which the photographer is fucking grateful. They make their way into the chalet, Justin sitting in the living room, while Liam goes to reheat their forgotten meal.

***

Justin only succeeds in eating half of his plate of chicken. They talk about mundane things, Obama becoming president, Michael Jackson’s death a few weeks ago, and Gabriel. Liam reveals the gallery owner is his only friend, apart from Connor, although he doesn’t dwell much on his relationship with the painter. Justin is tempted to ask, but he figures if Liam wants to talk about Connor, he will.

For the umpteeth time that night, however, Justin questions what he is doing. When Liam shut the door in his face earlier, he almost left, marching to his car hurriedly and sliding in, ready to turn on the vehicle. Instead, he hit the wheel, before leaning his forehead against it, trying to calm down. He knew that something had prompted Liam to lash out on him, but as much as he tried, his mind came empty in finding a reason.

He stayed in the car for a while, closing his eyes to focus, trying to understand how he’d ended up in this mess. How on earth could he be so sure of his feelings for a guy he’d just met a couple of days ago? The man didn’t want to let him in, for whatever reason, and yet Justin wanted to keep trying, again and again, until Liam caved and allowed him to get close. What other choice did he have anyway? Leave and never look back?

He laughed then. Of course he couldn’t do that. He hadn’t felt this way with another man in so long, he wasn’t going to admit defeat so easily. Liam might want him out of his life, but Justin would be damned if he wouldn’t fight him until he was absolutely certain that was what the photographer wanted.

So, he exited his car and walked back to the porch, waiting for the man to realize he was still there.

Which led him here with a knotted stomach, facing Liam after the man admitted he didn’t want him to leave even though he shut him out. If Justin weren’t convinced Brian was dead, he’d almost believe Liam learned to handle his feelings from the master himself.

“Another drink?” Liam proposes as he approaches Justin with the bottle of Bordeaux.

Justin eyes the wine, knowing he should stop now since he’s already had too much to drink, when he usually doesn’t indulge at all, but he is so confused that he accepts it anyway. “Yeah, thanks,” he responds as he nudges his glass toward Liam for a refill. He takes two huge gulps, nearly finishing off the glass, and waits for the alcohol to ease his tension.

“I almost forgot,” Liam suddenly declares, standing up from his chair and looking around for his satchel. He opens it, carefully retrieving what appears to be a present.

Justin’s brow furrows as Liam walks back to the table and places the gift in front of him, prompting him to ask, “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Liam replies.

Justin stares at the man quizzically, before picking up the present and carefully unwrapping it. His eyes widen as he discovers the photograph he shot of the eagle the previous morning, in a simple, yet elegant, black frame, enhanced by the ivory paper surrounding the picture. “It’s…” Justin is speechless.

“Actually pretty good, isn’t it?” Liam murmurs softly as he comes up behind Justin and gazes at the photograph. “You must have a natural talent to capture a shot like that on your first outing. Although, if you’re an artist, I’m not surprised.”

Justin’s lips turn upward at the brunet’s praise. He stands up, still clutching Liam’s gift in his hands, and turns around to look at the photographer, who is smiling softly. “I love it.”

Liam nods, “You’re welcome,” fidgeting as Justin steps closer.

“Thank you,” Justin breathes out. He wants to kiss the man so badly, but guessing Liam will pull away if he does, he stands on tiptoe to place a chaste kiss on Liam’s cheek.

He feels the man shiver at the touch. They stay there, frozen in place, their lips so close that Justin can feel the man’s breath grazing his neck, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks Liam will actually kiss him.

Instead, the photographer edges away. He shakes his head and strides down the hallway toward the back of the chalet.

Justin can’t move as, one more time, he watches Liam pulling away from him. For a moment, he thinks the man won’t come back, but he does return a few seconds later, carrying sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. “Here,” he offers, “You can sack out on the couch for the night.”

Justin attempts to read Liam’s face. “Liam…” he tries one last time to force the man into talking to him, but Liam moves back.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive back to the hotel safely,” is all he says, and the blond can hear the brunet’s silent plea not to push him to talk.

Justin can also feel the man’s turmoil as he waits for his reply. He doesn’t know why Liam is fighting their mutual attraction so hard, but as he stands there, he realizes that whatever his reason, not giving in to their desire is as difficult for Liam as it is for him. That can only mean that his feelings are not one-sided, and for Justin, this is all the incentive he needs to hang on.

So, he accepts Liam’s hospitality, grabs the bedding from the man, and watches as the photographer disappears down the hallway, the dishes forgotten on the table.

***

One hour later, Justin has cleaned up the kitchen and is trying to sleep on the sofa. He tosses and turns, but no matter what he does, he can’t get comfortable. He replays the evening’s events endlessly, questioning what he has missed, as if his mind already knows what is happening, even though he has been too blind to see it.

“Fuck!” he eventually curses, rubbing his face, knowing he won’t be able to sleep anytime soon.

He peers down the hallway toward Liam’s bedroom. Once, then twice, he looks in that direction, debating with himself, until he finally gets up and pads down the hall. Liam’s bedroom door has been left ajar, so he pushes it open a little more, noticing that the windows aren’t closed, the light shed by the moon giving the room a special, dreamlike aura. Liam is lying on his side under the sheets, fully clothed, his covered back to Justin, and the blond briefly hesitates before quietly moving to the bed.

As he slides under the sheets, he welcomes the warmth, instinctively scooting closer to his companion’s body. Liam doesn’t move as he breathes in his scent. His fingers itch to touch him, but he is afraid the man will wake up if he does. So, he carefully places his hand on his hip, and spoons him as much as he can.

When Liam wakes up a few hours later, Justin is sleeping, snoring softly, one arm encircling his waist.

 


	8. You can stay here

**_Liam’s chalet, Wednesday, July 22nd, 6:50 a.m._ **

Liam quietly disentangles himself from Justin’s embrace. The blond stirs, his face burrowing deeper into the pillow, prompting the brunet to hold his breath for a second as he gazes at the young man. When Justin doesn’t move again, Liam just sits there and observes him, his lips turning upward as he remembers a seventeen-year-old kid slipping into his bed, uninvited. 

Liam doesn’t know how long he stays there before he grabs his glasses, gets up, and exits the bedroom.

In the bathroom, he takes out his contact lenses - having kept them in just in case - his eyes returning to their natural color. He divests himself of his clothes, takes a quick shower, and gets dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, a yellow shirt, and his cap. He puts in his other pair of contacts, then dons his glasses. When he shuffles into the kitchen, the coffee maker is already on, so he grabs a cup from the cabinet and pours the hot beverage. He welcomes its bitterness, which helps him clear his thoughts and envision what he is going to do next.

The truth is, he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to what he is going to do. Justin is supposed to leave in a few hours, but Liam already knows he can’t let him drive back to Billings and take that plane. So what then? he wonders, heading toward the door, just as a knock resonates through the living room, startling him.

Frowning, Liam opens the door. “Connor?” he mumbles as he discovers the painter standing on the porch.

“You do remember my name!” Connor jests, smiling derisively. “Can I come in?” he inquires, shaking a paper bag in front of Liam’s nose. “I brought breakfast.” 

Liam snatches the bag from Connor’s hands. “What’s this?” he asks as he opens it and peers inside.

“Croissants and ‘pains au chocolat,’ ” Connor responds, enunciating the words slowly. “Tons of butter and a bit of flour gives you this real delight. Our new French baker, Bernard, makes them for the guests.” He puts his hand into the bag, retrieving a croissant. “C’mon! You wanna taste this, Lady and the Tramp style,” he intones cheerfully, placing the end of the pastry between his teeth.

“Uh, no,” Liam chuckles, before walking toward the kitchen counter and setting the bag on it, with Connor on his heels. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Connor deadpans, smirking as he takes a bite.

Liam snorts and finally questions, “So… are you going to tell me what you’re doing here at…” he peers at his watch “...seven forty in the morning?”

“Do I need a reason to visit the man of my dreams?” Connor quips.

Liam gives Connor a pointed stare.

The painter feels an inexplicable need to defend his point, clarifying, “What? I didn’t say my dreams weren’t naughty. Thanks to our long and hard sessions, you’ve given me hours of jerk-off material. And…” he drawls, approaching Liam and batting his eyes, “I wouldn’t say no to another performance.” 

He halts when Liam places a hand on his chest and declares in a low voice, “We’re not fucking again.”

“Why can’t we-” Connor begins, but he pauses when he notices Justin walking down the hall in his t-shirt and underwear. “Oh… I think I have my answer.”

Liam isn’t sure he is going to survive this morning. Firstly, Justin looks way too edible with his tousled hair and sleepy look. Secondly, now that Connor must have deduced Justin has spent the night in his home - in his bed - he fears the whole town will soon be informed that Liam Byron let someone stay overnight.

“Connor?” Justin inquires, his brow furrowing. 

“You remember my name too! Oh my God, that makes me so happy,” Connor fake enthuses as he saunters over to Justin. Before the blond has any time to process what is happening, he is engulfed in the painter’s arms, as the man exclaims, “Thank you! It means so much to me.”

Justin peers over at Liam, grimacing and mouthing ‘help’, which only elicits a smirk from the photographer. When Connor doesn’t show any sign of ending the hug soon, however, Liam decides to intervene, strolling over to them. He pries the brunet’s hands away from Justin’s back and pushes him back, chastising, “Let him breathe.”

Connor doesn’t answer Liam, grinning stupidly at Justin. “I brought your favorite breakfast, Justin. Croissants from our ‘maître boulanger.’ ” He gestures toward the bag resting on the kitchen counter.

“Uh, thanks?” Justin replies absently, grabbing his jeans from the couch.

“Come on. Please, have one.” Connor urges. “I promise I won’t try to steal it from you this time.”

“Why do I have a hard time believing you?” Justin jokes as he buttons up his pants and walks to the counter, taking a ‘pain au chocolat’ from the bag, while Liam pours two more cups of coffee.

“My poor heart,” Connor intones, playfully clasping his hands across his chest. 

“And you still haven’t responded to my question.” Liam interjects as he hands Connor a cup of coffee, placing the other in front of Justin.

“Your question being?” Connor wonders, eying Justin’s pain au chocolat with obvious interest.

“What do you want? You never come here, especially this early.” Liam elaborates, raising an eyebrow.

“Well…” Connor seems to ponder his answer. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. You know, if anything happened to you, I’d really be utterly devas-”

“Connor,” Liam cuts him off drily, started to get peeved by his friend’s over-the-top behavior.

“You’re right, that was a little much,” Connor concedes, his brow furrowing as he taps his lips with his index finger, before proposing, “I was worried Justin had been kidnapped by a queer alien that wanted to make him pregnant with the next Messiah?” At Liam’s penetrating stare, he theorizes, “No?”

Justin looks up at Liam, snorting, “He sure is precious.”

“You think?” Liam retorts mockingly, before redirecting his gaze at Connor, “Listen, if you don’t tell me why you’re here, you might as well leave,” he joshes, eying the bag full of croissants. “But we’re keeping those.” he concludes with a jocular grin.

“Since when do you want me to talk?” Connor complains in a high-pitched voice. 

“He has a point,” Justin declares playfully, smiling slightly when he notices the dirty look Liam is giving him.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Connor acknowledges. “But please, stop interrupting, pretty boy.”

Liam and Justin both roll their eyes. “So, shoot,” the photographer encourages. He knows Connor is nervous for some reason. Behind all his witty repartee and his childish attitude, the painter is truly a lost, lonely soul. That’s probably why Liam has always liked the guy, even though half the town can’t stand him.

“I need a favor,” Connor finally reveals, his demeanor changing. “I need you to deliver the painting I’ve finished to Gabriel.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Liam immediately inquires. “And I thought Gabriel was supposed to pick it up at your place yesterday.”

“He came,” Connor shrugs it off as he takes a sip of coffee, although Liam immediately surmises something happened. “And since he is a dickhead and was too busy making me lose my shit, he left without it.”

“You had a fight?” Liam interrogates. 

“We had... a slight argument,” Connor rationalizes. 

Liam sighs deeply, eying Connor suspiciously, before arguing, “I can’t exactly deliver it with the Harley this morning. I’d need to borrow Gabriel’s car.”

“It’s not that big,” Connor corrects, “I could leave it at the hotel so that you can walk it over to the gallery.”

“I can do it,” Justin intervenes, after having listened silently to their exchange while sipping his cup of coffee and eating his pain au chocolat, taking advantage of the fact Connor was busy arguing with Liam. “I can use the rental and drive.”

“You’d do that?” Connor asks, glancing at the blond. Liam is almost certain he can discern a hint of disappointment on the man’s face as the painter notices Justin has already finished his pastry.

“Hmm, yes,” Justin affirms.

“I thought you were leaving today?” Connor inquires, as he goes to check how many croissants and pains au chocolat are left in the bag, but Liam snatches it from the counter before Connor can peek inside.

Justin shrugs, obviously having a hard time deciding what he is going to do. “Well, I...”

The painter sticks out his tongue at Liam, before refocusing on Justin. “Tell you what. If you deliver the painting to Gabriel, I’ll invite you home tonight,” he proposes, a smirk appearing on his face as he specifies, “You can eat my food, sleep in my bed, ruin my sheets, smell my dirty underwear, and maybe we can-”

Liam pinches the side of Connor’s neck. “Do you want him to flee?”

Connor feigns offense, groaning as he rubs his abused flesh, “Hey! I’m being a good citizen and offering hospitality to a man in distress.”

“I’m not a man in-”

The painter doesn’t let Justin formulate his complaint. “I’m willing to sleep in the guest room for you. Please don’t wound my heart even more.”

“Justin is not staying at your place,” Liam refutes as he moves to pour the dregs of his coffee down the drain. 

“And where will he stay? Provided he wants to stay in the first place,” Connor clarifies.

“He can stay here,” Liam announces, peering at Justin to gauge his reaction. Sometime between the moment he fell asleep and his awakening, he has fully accepted he can’t let the blond go just yet, although from the look on his face, he can tell that Justin wasn’t expecting such a proposal. “You can stay here,” Liam repeats, this time addressing the blond.

“I need to check if I can change my flight,” Justin responds, his face unreadable.

“You’re delaying your flight,” Connor orders. “Or, I will kidnap you.”

Liam snorts. “I’m sure Justin is terrified by the prospect.”

“Actually, I’m quivering in fear,” Justin confirms playfully.

Connor walks closer to Justin and grips his forearm. Justin gazes down at Connor’s hand before looking up at him quizzically. 

The brunet exclaims, “What? I’m just checking.”

“Let go,” Justin demands with a laugh.

“Hey,” Liam heckles the painter, grabbing his chin so that he can examine his face. He has just noticed a bruise covering most of Connor’s right eye, hidden by cheap blush. How the fuck didn’t he see it before? “What happened to your eye?” 

Connor averts his eyes at Liam’s question, evading the man’s touch. “You know, the point of using makeup is to avoid this kind of interrogation.”

“Someone hit you?” Liam ignores Connor’s statement. 

“No,” Connor denies, closing off.

Liam stares some more, “It’s not Gabriel, is it?” he can’t help but question, although no matter how difficult Gabriel and Connor’s relationship is, Liam is certain his friend wouldn’t have hurt the painter. 

“What? No! Just drop it, okay?” Connor insists, stepping back to put some distance between them.

Understanding the man won’t reveal anything, Liam decides to drop the matter for now.

“So, tonight? My place? You two can come for dinner, and since I like you,” Connor reiterates, pointing at Justin, “I will even be gracious enough to show you a couple of paintings from my collection.” 

“What a generous thing to do,” Liam intones sardonically, before looking at Justin. “Justin? What do you say?” he asks, his voice somewhat hoarse.

Justin’s eyes bore into Liam’s, the brunet’s heart pounding in anticipation. “Let me check when the next flight to Philly is and whether I can extend the rental. You have a computer somewhere?”

“Not here,” Liam replies, relieved that Justin seems ready to delay his departure. “We’ll need to go to the studio.”

“Okay.” Justin nods. “I need to go back to the hotel and deliver the painting to Gabriel anyway. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

Liam agrees with a curt nod.

“Come on.” Justin grabs his jacket and pushes Connor to the door, just as the man steals a croissant from the bag. Justin snatches half of it from the painter’s hand with a smirk.

“Oh my God, I think I’m falling in love,” Connor enthuses cheerfully, giving his best puppy dog expression, and prompting Justin to roll his eyes as he pops the piece of croissant into his mouth.

***

**_Liam’s studio, 10:20 a.m._ **

“Okay. I think it’s all good now,” Justin states, clicking one last time on the screen to make sure he didn’t forget anything. When he is satisfied, he hits the print button and waits.

“You rescheduled your flight?” Liam inquires as he kneels in front of the large cabinet next to the desk, searching for a specific type of photographic paper. 

“Yeah, for an extra fee…” Justin confirms, snatching the information from the printer and rolling the office chair backward. “And I also extended the rental.”

“Good,” Liam comments, standing up and carrying a stack of paper to the desk. 

“So…” Justin begins, glancing up at Liam. He still can’t believe Liam suggested that he stay at the chalet. “I’m staying at your place, huh?”

Liam stares at the blond, volunteering, “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, I want to,” the blond proclaims, his lips curling upward. 

Liam nods, pursing his own to prevent himself from smiling, as he looks down at the stack of paper and begins to count the sheets. “You’re okay with going to Connor’s tonight?”

Justin shrugs, standing up and half-sitting on the desk next to the photographer, while Liam focuses on his task. “Why not? Maybe you should even ask Gabriel to come.”

Liam snorts, placing a few sheets on his desk and returning the rest to the cabinet. “Yeah. And Connor will have us murdered if we do that.”

“It could be good, though,” Justin insists. “Since we’ll be there, they won’t kill each other. And…”

“And what?” Liam interrogates, raising one eyebrow as he gazes up.

Justin considers his response for a few seconds. He knows it’s not any of his business, but he remembers Gabriel’s drawings, and therefore feels the need to ask, “Do you think Gabriel could… I don’t know… have feelings for Connor, maybe?”

“Don’t tell me you want to play matchmaker.” Liam chides while searching for a few other items. “You don’t even know Gabriel.”

“I know but I…” Justin stammers, before rubbing his forehead. “Uh, just forget I said anything. It’s stupid anyway.”

Liam stops what he’s doing. Glancing up, he admits, “I think Gabriel has feelings for Connor. And vice versa. But it’s none of my business if my friend wants to pretend he doesn’t love a man, or if Connor wants to play the martyr. If they’re both so stupid they’d don’t realize life is short and that hiding from each other won’t accomplish anything, there’s really nothing I can do for them.”

“You can invite Gabriel to Connor’s,” Justin reiterates. 

“You’re really not the kind of man who gives up easily, are you?” Liam deadpans, standing up with several dark brown and red mattes.

“Hello? Have you met me yet?” Justin quips with a smile.

“I’ve met you alright,” Liam grins as he picks up the photo paper. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have work to do.”

“Sure,” Justin steps back to give Liam more space. “I’ll meet you here later.”

“What are you going to do today?” Liam inquires, pausing in the door frame.

“I think I’m going to draw,” Justin responds with a small smile. “Do you know if there’s a shop where I can buy a sketchbook and some pencils or something?”

“Don’t bother,” Liam shakes his head, coming back to put the photo paper and the mattes on his desk. He then retrieves his cell from his pocket and frowns, searching for a number before dialing. “Gabe!” he greets his friend with false enthusiasm as soon as the man picks up. “I need a favor. No actually, I need two.”

Justin observes Liam in amusement.

“First, I need you to provide a sketchbook and some pencils... or charcoals?” Liam peers at Justin questioningly, the blond nodding his approval, “for Justin.” He pauses, listening to Gabriel’s answer, before verifying, “Yes. That Justin.”

Justin snorts.

“And,” Liam continues, a funny grimace appearing on his face as he announces, “I need you to come with us to Connor’s tonight…” Liam frowns, peering down at his feet. Gabriel must have replied to his query, since he clarifies, “Yeah. Me and Justin.” 

Justin is trying really hard not to act smug that Liam has changed his mind about suggesting Gabriel join them.

Gabriel must have tried to evade going, however, since the brunet chastises, “Yeah, well, you need to accept you’re attracted to a man even though you never wanted to be. Believe me, it’s not the end of the world.” he proclaims, looking right at Justin, who feels his heart thump at the man’s declaration. Liam averts his gaze, continuing without allowing Gabriel time to respond, “And by the way, do you know who hit Connor? He had a bruise on his face this morning.” He frowns as he focuses on Gabriel’s response and adds, “Yes, but he wouldn’t tell me… You know how he is. Maybe he will talk to you. All the more reason why you should come with us.”

Liam hums a couple of time before finally hanging up with an abrupt, “See you.”

“Is he coming?” Justin questions as Liam puts his cell back in his pants, not sure Gabriel has accepted their invitation.

“He’d better,” Liam stresses. “Knowing Connor has been hurt, I’m sure he will want to see him, though.”

“Do you have any idea who did it?” Justin inquires.

“No,” Liam replies drily, picking up his work material from his desk. “I need to go. You can visit the gallery whenever you want and ask Gabriel’s assistant for whatever you need to draw. I’ll see you tonight?”

Justin gives the man a small nod. Liam’s eyes stay on the blond for a bit longer, before he exits his office and disappears down the stairs.

***

Justin spends his day at the dock by the lake, marveling at and drawing endlessly every little detail his eyes land on, sensing a bliss he hasn’t felt in years. He didn’t realize how much he’s yearned to let his inspiration out until today, but as his fingers stroke lines across the paper, he can’t keep himself from smiling, his whole face lighting up because of the joy he feels.

Liam’s face appears on the page, of course. Justin focuses, trying his best to reflect his essence in every line.

He also draws an elderly woman who sits down next to him and engages in conversation, praising his technique and talent. Soon, a couple joins her, and although he should be annoyed at being interrupted, he feels too elated and therefore agrees to sketch them.

It’s already five-forty when he makes his way to Liam’s studio. As soon as he walks in, the photographer joins him and locks the front door, before strolling to his office and putting on his jacket. Justin strides across the open space and enters the room, frowning when the man grabs two helmets from a shelf.

Liam opens the back door, handing Justin a helmet. The blond accepts it and walks out, with Liam on his heels, locking the door behind them and announcing, “We’re going for a ride.” 

“We are?” Justin questions playfully as he slides the helmet onto his head and locks the buckles.

Liam grins, mimicking Justin’s movements, before climbing on and firing up the machine, purposely making the engine roar a couple of times.

Justin bursts out laughing, drawling, “This is so cliché, Mr. Byron.”

“Get on,” Liam demands.

Justin gets on behind Liam, immediately sliding closer and placing his hands around the brunet’s waist. He inhales, leaning against Liam’s shoulder, feeling a quiver run through his own body. He was never on a motorcycle before meeting the photographer, but it’s quickly becoming one of his favorite addictions. 

Liam lowers the helmet visor and puts the Harley in motion.

They ride for the next hour and a half, Liam stopping a couple times to relate interesting stories about the lake, allowing Justin to explore their surroundings. For some reason, they’re both amazingly relaxed, and Justin can feel his heart beating hard whenever he hears Liam laugh. The photographer seems less guarded, not hesitating to tease the blond, even touching him more than he has before. Justin doesn’t know if Liam is aware of what he is doing, casually leaning against him or guiding him with an arm around his shoulders when he wants to show him something, but he doesn’t say anything, too happy with this unexpected turn of events to take any chances.

“We need to go now,” Liam announces as he gets back on the Harley. “Connor must be waiting for us.”

“Shouldn’t we bring something?” Justin inquires, sliding behind Liam and replacing his helmet.

“No,” Liam replies, “considering I’m pretty sure Connor invited us just to mess with me since he never has anyone over to his place, except when he wants to fuck. But I’m not backing down and giving him the satisfaction of not showing up. Now that I think about it, we should probably buy some cheap wine and a bouquet of daisies.”

“Daisies?” Justin echoes, amused by Liam’s logic.

“Yes. He is allergic,” Liam enunciates with a smirk, the blond chuckling behind him as he revs the Harley, the vehicle surging forward.

***

Gabriel sits on the stairs leading to Connor’s front door, waiting for Liam and Justin to show up. He arrived twenty minutes earlier but can’t make himself knock.

He’s thought long and hard about their falling-out the previous day, about Liam stating on the phone earlier that he knows Gabriel wants Connor, and about the fact that he can’t stand knowing the painter has been hurt. That’s why he’s here, scared shitless, yet determined for the first time in his life to admit the truth, since he owes it to Connor and to himself. 

Connor may not welcome him into his home, and if he doesn’t, Gabriel isn’t sure what he’s going to do. It’s possible nothing will be enough to convince his childhood friend he wants to make amends, but he won’t leave until the painter hears him out. And considering how nervous he already is, it promises to be an evening to remember. 

He hears the Harley nearing Connor’s place, before it appears on the road leading to the house. Gabriel notices Justin is with Liam as his eyes follow the motorcycle, until his friend stops and turns it off a few feet away from him.

Gabriel stands up. “Hey Justin,” he greets the young man.

“Hey Gabriel. I’m glad you came,” Justin responds, making Gabriel frown briefly. He watches Liam retrieve something from the trunk behind the seat, laughing when the photographer gives Justin a bottle of wine, standing up with a bouquet of daisies in his hand.

“What’s up with those?” he questions, pointing at the flowers, already eager to see the look on Connor’s face when Liam gives them to him. “You’re aware Connor is allergic to pollen, right?”

“I’m very aware,” Liam replies with a smirk, pointing at the bottle in Justin’s hands, “and he also can’t stand rosé, can he?”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Connor’s voice interrupts their exchange. Gabriel turns around, noticing his childhood friend standing by the front door. The man stares at Liam and Justin, before directing his gaze at Gabriel, articulating, “Liam, you brought everything I can’t abide with you. What wonderful intentions you have.”

This is going to be fun.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. The truth is out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My endless gratitude to my wonderful beta Karynn  
> This is the last update of this story.

 

**_Connor’s house, Wednesday, July 22nd, 7:20 p.m._**

Connor snatches the bouquet of daisies from Liam’s hands and storms inside the house, leaving all his guests outside. He is so annoyed at Liam for inviting Gabriel. Although, he is even more peeved at himself since, as much as he wants to appear unaffected by this unexpected turn of events, he can feel his heart hammering in his chest and he fucking hates it.

Heading to the kitchen, he opens the window and throws the flowers outside.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he hears Liam declaim. Peering around, he notices that all his guests have entered the living room. Justin and Gabriel are chatting near the couch, while Liam is standing by the kitchen counter, holding the bottle of rosé with an insufferable grin on his face.

“And you’re breaking my balls, and yet, I’m not complaining, am I?” he retorts with a fake smile of his own.

Liam snorts, and asks, obviously aiming at pissing him off even more, “You have a corkscrew? I’m thirsty.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but opens a drawer from which he retrieves a wine-opener. “There,” he snarks, placing the item on the counter. “Help yourself.”

“So, Connor, I think you mentioned some paintings earlier?” Justin inquires as he joins them with Gabriel. Connor frowns, wondering if the blond is being genuine about wanting to see his art, or if he’s offering him a temporary reprieve from having Gabriel Harrington in his home for the second time in two days.

No matter the reason, Connor is all too happy to avoid being in the same room as Gabriel, “A man who has taste. What a relief,” he quips, before grabbing Justin’s hand and guiding him down the hall from the living room.

They enter his office. The room is kind of small, a large desk covered in paper taking up most of the space, while the walls are surprisingly bare of art.

“I take it this isn’t your studio.” Justin comments, his gaze sweeping around the room.

“My studio’s upstairs. But it’s off limits,” Connor elucidates, as he strides toward a shelf to his left and retrieves a couple of paintings from the gap between the furniture and the wall. Raising one, he steps back so he’s closer to Justin. “This one is trash.”

Justin looks at the abstract and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say that. I like your use of color, especially the light emerald strokes and full black lines over there,” he analyzes, pointing at one corner of the picture.

“You’ve got poor taste after all,” Connor counters, the tone of his voice surprisingly soft. The truth is, he loathes this painting because he hates what it represents, although he can’t talk about it with anyone.

“What about this one?” Justin ignores his response, kneeling in front of the second painting that Connor left leaning against the shelf.

The brunet puts the painting he’s holding aside and moves over next to Justin, encouraging, “Guess…”

“Hmm,” Justin frowns, as he examines the canvas. “You were younger when you painted this. Your technique isn’t as controlled as today, but…” his voice trails off as he raises his hands and carefully slides his fingers across the painting’s surface. “This is magnificent.”

Connor snorts. He wants to make a witty remark, but his throat closes up against his will. He painted this when he was eighteen, pouring everything he felt for the man who is now standing in the next room into those lines and strokes.

“What?” Justin interrogates, noticing Connor’s expression.

“I shouldn’t have painted that,” Connor declares, grabbing the painting carelessly and placing it back into the gap.

“Why?” Justin questions as he stands up. “It’s truly one of the best pieces I’ve seen in a very long time. Not that your other pieces aren’t brilliant, but this one…” he indicates the painting with his finger, “this one is special.”

“Yeah, well…” Connor isn’t sure he should confide in the blond, at all. The situation is complicated enough, and Justin seems like a good guy, which doesn’t really help.

“It’s about Gabriel, isn’t it?” Justin surmises, even though Connor can see he hesitated before sharing his conclusion.

“You’re a mind-reader or something?” Connor inquires defensively.

“No,” Justin denies, “Just a guy who used to paint and knows how it feels to be inspired by someone you love.”

Connor stares at Justin, noticing the look on his face as well as the soft, melancholic smile playing on his lips.

Then, Justin gazes up at him, his blue eyes boring into his own, and claims, “I know I’m way out of the line to tell you this, but I’m going to say it anyway...” He pauses briefly and continues, “I’m not sure what the deal between you and Gabriel is, but since it’s obvious you care about each other, I suggest you both grow a pair and stop hiding behind false pretenses. Life’s too short to be angry, especially with someone you love. And before you tell me to fuck off,” he hastily adds before Connor can protest, “think hard about what you want. Because you’re fucking lucky to have a choice. I wasn’t.” he concludes, his voice turning somewhat hoarse.

With those last words, the blond softly touches his arm, before walking out of the office to join Liam and Gabriel.

***

For the next hour, they all pretend everything is alright. Liam is in a good mood; Justin is the perfect guest, regaling everyone with stories about Philly and Pittsburgh; Connor has calmed down and has stopped glaring daggers at Gabriel; and they’re having a pretty good time. Connor has even heated some frozen pizza, and while they’ve avoided any touchy subjects, the gathering is actually turning out better than Gabriel thought it would.

Gabriel has a hard time looking away from Connor. He was set on ignoring his feelings for the brunet until he touched him the day before, but since then it has been like something clicked inside of him. Moreover, ever since Liam revealed that someone hit Connor, Gabriel has feel an insidious rage overtaking him.

For now, he needs to keep his feelings under control, since he can’t exactly demand answers while Liam and Justin are still here.  

“I like your last painting, Connor,” Gabriel declares, addressing the painter directly for the first time this evening.

“I agree, your collection of Lakevallée paintings at the gallery is brilliant,” Justin interjects. “The latest addition is a very good depiction of the dock.”

“Hmm,” Connor seems indifferent to the praise. Gabriel frowns. Since the painter returned from his office, he hasn’t made more than a couple of snarky comments, which, knowing Connor like Gabriel does, is quite unusual.

“I’m not sure what you talked about earlier, but I think he’s been lobotomized,” Liam remarks, indicating Connor with a toss of his head.

Justin elbows Liam, who is sitting next to him on the couch.

“Ouch!” Liam complains, rubbing his side.

“Give him a break,” Justin demands, sharing a look with Connor, which increases Gabriel’s anxiety but also gives him a new resolve.

He takes a deep breath and announces, “I need to speak to Connor.”  looking right at his childhood friend.

The brunet turns to look at him, his face blank, but Gabriel doesn’t care. Maybe Connor will tell him to fuck off before he even begins, but whatever he does, Gabriel is determined to fight him if he needs to, and honestly, the probability that they will is pretty high.

Liam glances between Gabriel and Connor, before patting Justin’s thigh. “That’s our clue.” Justin nods and gets up, too, as Liam intones, “Thanks for dinner.”

“It wasn’t dinner. It was a frozen pizza that has been rotting in my freezer for five years.” Connor ripostes, the prospect of being alone with Gabriel apparently bringing back his charming sense of humor.

Liam snorts as he grabs his jacket from the hat rack, handing Justin his too, drawling, “Let’s do this again sometime. It was so much fun, and the wine was exquisite.”

Connor directs a scathing look at him and gestures toward the front door. “It’s open. Shoo!”

Liam smirks and walks outs, with Justin on his heels, although once more Gabriel notices the look they share as the blond whispers something in the painter’s ear before stepping outside.

Connor closes the door behind them, but doesn’t turn to look at Gabriel. The gallery owner can see the stillness in his body, reflecting how tense the painter is.

“Connor,” he calls his name.

Connor doesn’t move.

“Look at me,” he encourages as he tentatively moves closer. When Connor still refuses to turn around, Gabriel lets out a sigh, but he doesn’t back down. Covering the distance separating him from the brunet, he stands right behind him, and breathes out, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Connor questions quietly.

Gabriel isn’t sure where to start, so he says the first thing that comes to mind, “For leaving.”

Connor snorts. “You’re still here.”

“I don’t mean now...” Gabriel closes his eyes briefly, knowing Connor has surmised what he means. They’ve never talked about their kiss, not once. “I was afraid, that night at your first exhibition. When you kissed me,” he remembers, “I freaked out.”

“No shit,” Connor grunts.

“Yeah. You can tell me how much of a pathetic, insufferable coward I was.” Gabriel bargains.

“You _are_ a pathetic, insufferable coward.” Connor immediately argues.

“That’s not exactly true.” Gabriel objects as he raises a hand to Connor’s shoulder, feeling the man flinch at the touch. His hand lingers there for a few seconds, before slowly traveling down the painter’s arm.

Connor peers down, paralyzed by Gabriel’s gesture.

“I want you to forgive me.” Gabriel utters, moving closer, his breath tickling Connor’s skin as he laces their fingers together.

Gabriel can hear Connor’s breathing alter. The man has never been easy to convince, being so stubborn and annoying at times and appearing like such a childish shithead to the people he doesn’t give a damn about. But Gabriel knows he is much more than this persona he uses to fool people, and he fervently hopes it’s not too late, although Connor’s silence is not a good sign.

“You have every right to be mad at me.” Gabriel proclaims, hoping that Connor can hear his sincerity. “I ran away from you because of what I felt that night, and when I came back, I never fought for you. Even though I could have been your friend, I didn’t try, and no matter what...”

“What do you mean you ran away from me because of what you felt?” Connor cuts him off, breaking their connection as he pivots to gaze at Gabriel. “You never cared in that way. You ran away because you didn’t want to deal with me claiming I was in love with you. And you claimed you were my friend, but it was bullshit!”

The blond winces, noticing the turmoil in the painter’s dark brown eyes, and exclaims, “That’s not true!”

“Oh, please! You left because you were afraid of your feelings and couldn’t deal with loving a fag?” Connor reformulates incredulously, now facing Gabriel. “Do you really think I’m going to believe that you had…” he furrows his brow, “ _have_ feelings for me when you haven’t given a shit about me for almost fifteen years?”

Gabriel hates hearing Connor talk like this, because it makes him realize exactly how much he’s hurt this man. Retrospectively, that’s exactly what happened, though. At nineteen, Gabriel couldn’t deal with loving a guy. He wasn’t ‘gay’, had never been attracted to men, and all of a sudden, Connor challenged everything he’d believed about himself. Gabriel was so young, unable to understand that his feelings were genuine, and that there was no shame in loving Connor. He now knows that gender is unimportant, that all that matters is the person you love. He has ‘loved’ several women, has even been married for a couple of years, but the truth is, he’s been running away from the only person he truly cares about - the man who is standing right in front of him, and that from the look of it is ready to rip him a new one.

“You’re straight, Gabriel! You’ve told me so time and time again. How can you expect me to believe you now?” Connor inquires, Gabriel sensing the painter is not going to believe him until he proves him wrong.

There is only one thing left to do, then.

Gabriel sees the exact moment when Connor realizes what is going to happen. His eyes widen, and for a second, Gabriel fears the brunet is going to stop him, but he doesn’t. So, Gabriel stops hesitating and does what he should have a long time ago.

He takes Connor in his arms, feeling the man shiver. He cups his cheeks and leans in, covering those lips he wants so much. And then, he just feels.

Fuck, he is kissing a man. It’s brutal, feverish, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought, because Connor moans against his lips. When he does, something strong grips Gabriel in his very core, so fucking intense that he pushes the other man against the door. The brunet lets out a sigh as his back hits the hard surface, the sound making Gabriel snap, intensifying their connection. He claims Connor with his whole being, devouring his mouth, their bodies pressed tightly together as he unleashes years of suppressed yearning, desire, and despair.

Connor suddenly turns Gabriel around and traps him against the door, claiming his lips passionately, their tongues duelling fiercely. Feeling Connor's erection against his own, Gabriel unconsciously starts moving his hips, aware he's going to come in his pants if they don’t slow down, but he doesn’t care. The truth is, he needs to come from Connor’s touch, has needed it for so long, that he pushes harder against the brunet’s dick, prompting the painter to grab his leg and place it around his hips to intensify their pleasure.

“Gabe…” Connor cries out, breaking their kiss.

Gabriel realizes Connor is climaxing, feels it against his denim-covered dick and his orgasm unexpectedly pours out of him, leaving him both blissed out and enervated. His face burrowing into Connor’s neck, he tries to catch his breath and to recover from one of the most intensely erotic moments of his life.

It takes him a full minute to regain the power of speech, and when he does, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he gently breathes out, “Do you believe me now?” in Connor’s ear, his warm breath grazing the brunet’s skin and causing the man to shiver.

Connor doesn’t respond, but he lifts one hand to caress Gabriel’s hair. The blond tilts his head back to gaze into his lover’s eyes, frowning as he tentatively touches Connor’s cheek, just below his eye.  

Connor pulls away, snapping, “Don’t.”

“Who did that to you?” Gabriel asks the question he’s bottled up all evening, his voice laced with anger as he stares at the bruise Connor tried to disguise.

Connor doesn’t respond, just gazes back at him with a wistful, almost sad look on his face. “You should go,” he announces, evading his query.

“Connor, don’t shut me out,” Gabriel pleads, trying to make the brunet look at him, but Connor doesn’t allow it. Instead, he attempts to move away, but the blond stops him by tugging on his hand, pulling him against himself again and covering his lips, trying to show him everything he feels.

Connor responds to the kiss, but when Gabriel reluctantly breaks their connection, the brunet refuses to meet his gaze.

Realizing the painter needs some space, Gabriel decides not to push for more. As he pulls on his jacket, though, he firmly declares, “I love you, Connor,” before walking out.

  
***

**_Thirty minutes later, the chalet…_ **

Liam and Justin have just gotten back, after the photographer made a detour by the hotel for his companion to pick up his car. Both men having decided it’s too early to go to bed, Liam prepares coffee while Justin walks outside, watching the last gleams of light fade from the sky.

“Here,” Liam carefully hands a cup of coffee to Justin before sitting next to him on the bench, one leg folded under him.

“Thanks,” Justin responds, blowing on the steamy beverage. Enjoying the quiet, mild night, he peers furtively at Liam, itching to move closer.

Instead, he puts his coffee down next to the bench and stands up to go inside. Heading to the couch where he negligently tossed his duffle bag, he bends over and unzips it. Retrieving what he was looking for, he walks back outside, sitting back down next to Liam with the sketchbook he used earlier this afternoon.

Liam eyes him as he detaches a sheet. “Here,” he hands the sketch, noticing the guarded expression on the brunet’s face. “This is for you.”

Liam picks up the drawing without a word, gazing at his image on the page.

“You like it?” Justin asks hesitantly as the silence drags for too long.

Liam peers at him, an indecipherable expression on his face, and Justin feels his anxiety rising. Eventually, the man utters, “It’s…” but he stops, just gazing at the drawing and not answering Justin’s question. The blond frowns when Liam places the sketch next to himself, inquiring, “What are you going to do once you go back to Philly?”

“Huh?” Justin isn’t sure how they went from him sharing a gift with Liam to Liam questioning him about what he’ll do once he leaves Lakevallée.

“You said you hadn’t drawn in years before coming here. What do you do for a living then?” Liam clarifies.

Justin nods, explaining, “I just graduated with a degree in graphic animation. I’ve applied to work for a firm in Philly, which specializes in three-dimensional computer graphics.”

“You think you nailed it?” Liam questions, staring absently at the lake.

“Hard to tell,” Justin shakes his head. “I have no experience, so it’s quite unlikely, but who knows? The interview went well, so…”

“Hmm…” Liam acknowledges.

Justin isn’t sure exactly what’s going on. He doesn’t know why Liam’s mood seems to have shifted since he saw the drawing, so he decides to talk about something else. “Do you think Gabriel and Connor refrained from killing each other after we left?”

Liam snorts. “Fuck if I know, but it’s past time they deal with their shit.”

“It’s not always that easy.” Justin counters, suddenly remembering his forgotten cup of coffee and picking it up from the ground.

“Well, we sure can’t resolve their problems for them,” Liam argues.

“Yes but…” Justin begins, grimacing when he takes a sip of his coffee. “Shit, it's cold.”

“There’s a microwave in the cabinet above the dishwasher.” Liam informs Justin.

The blond gets up and heads inside to the kitchen. A minute later, he’s back, holding a hot cup of coffee. Sitting sideways on the bench facing Liam, he glances toward the lake, commenting, “This place is so peaceful. Though I’m not sure I could get used to the quietness if I lived here on my own.”

Liam chuckles dryly, looking down at the ground. “You get used to it.”

“Where are you from?” Justin inquires, leaning his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the back of the bench. “You never told me.”

Liam rolls his lips in, his gaze vacant for a few seconds, before replying vaguely, “The East Coast.”

Justin keeps looking at Liam, hoping the man will be more specific, but when it’s obvious he won’t elaborate, the blond asks, “How in the world did you end up here?”

Liam lowers his head and massages his face, seemingly tired. “It’s complicated,” he eventually responds, before glancing away.

Justin sighs, wondering once again why Liam is so mysterious all the time. But it’s obvious he won’t confide in him anytime soon, and the blond doesn’t want to waste the little time he has with Liam questioning the man’s motives.

“Come on,” he encourages, taking one last sip of his coffee, putting it back on the ground, and standing up, “let’s go for a walk.”

“Huh?” Liam peers up with a frown.

“I want to go for a walk,” Justin repeats.

“It’s nighttime, in case you didn’t notice,” Liam protests.

“But the moonlight is bright enough to take the path by the lake.” Justin argues, gesticulating toward the trail which starts at the pier.

Liam sighs. “You’re not going to let it go until I agree, are you?”

Justin places his hands on Liam’s thighs and leans down, breathing out, “No.”

Liam tries very hard not to smile at Justin’s seductive expression, but fails. “Okay.” Standing up, he begins to walk toward the path, but halts, scolding, “But I’m not holding your hand.”

Justin chuckles wholeheartedly, muttering, “Whatever,” as he strides past Liam and heads toward the lake.

***

Twenty minutes later, Justin isn’t that thrilled with his impulsive plan. It’s the third time he’s jumped in less than ten minutes, thinking he heard a strange noise coming from the woods.

“What’s that?” he cries out.

Liam is laughing hard now. “It must be a wolf. They like blonds in this area.”

“Stop that!” Justin chides, punching Liam in the arm. “It’s not funny!”

“You’re the one who wanted to go for a walk in the moonlight,” Liam mocks, “not me.”

“I didn’t know there would be monsters in the woods.” Justin objects, instinctively moving closer from Liam. “You could have warned me.”

“What? That the forest is full of starving bears?” Liam innocently states.

“Oh my God. We’re going to die,” Justin overreacts on purpose, clutching at Liam’s waist. The man laughs at his over-the-top behavior and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” Liam leans in to whisper in his ear, “I’ll protect you.”

“You’d better,” Justin huffs before chuckling.

“What?” Liam asks, his brow furrowing playfully.

“We’re not holding hands, but this is even better,” Justin gloats.

Liam snorts, scoffing fondly, “Twat.”

The endearment escapes his lips as he lightly pinches Justin’s shoulder, but the blond barely feels the touch; all he can focus on is Liam’s voice, the tone he used to tease him affectionately sounding so familiar and making him ache.

He stops walking and looks down with a frown, before peering up at Liam as the brunet inquires in confusion, “What?”

Justin doesn't reply, too busy questioning why he feels so overwhelmed by Liam right now. How can this man remind him so much of Brian? They’re so different in many ways, and yet, their resemblance is uncanny. Not just physically. There’s something more, in the way Liam moves or speaks, something Justin can’t grasp.

Justin looks away as he tries to shut off his thoughts. Eventually shaking himself out of his trance, he realizes Liam is still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He replies as nonchalantly as possible, “Nothing.”

Liam proposes, “Let’s go back. It's getting late.” although Justin immediately notices that his companion’s good mood has shifted, too. Glancing up at the photographer, the blond observes him standing in the moonlight, until the brunet’s eyes land on him, holding his gaze.

“Liam…” he calls his name, needing _something_ , even though he doesn't know what it could be.

Liam ignores him, breaking their gaze and taking a couple of steps before halting in the middle of the path. With a sigh, he eventually acknowledges, “What?”

Justin isn’t sure what he wants to say. All he knows is that in this instant, he feels love for this man, so fucking real and powerful that he needs to face it and tell Liam the truth. There is a good chance the photographer will think he’s crazy, but so what? He will be gone in a few days.

So, against all judgement, and even if he knows he is insane to confess his love to someone he barely knows, he reveals, “I think I’m in love with you.”

The silence that ensues is deafening.

Liam doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge his declaration at all, and it fucking hurts. Justin can stand neither the quietness nor the pressure in his chest, so he pushes, “You know what? Actually, I know I am. I can even say that I love you, and I know it’s insane and pathetic and that I really must be out of my mind to confess something like this, but here I am, blurting out my love for you, knowing I’ll probably end up heartbroken since I’m supposed to leave soon and I don’t even know if you feel anything for me and-”

“Stop,” Liam cuts him off, but now that Justin has started, he’s not ready to stop.

“What for? It’s the truth. I love you.” Justin asserts. “Either deal with it by telling me to fuck off or take me in your bed or whatever the fuck you want to do, but don't tell me-”

“Stop!” Liam snaps, his voice echoing into the night as he turns around to face Justin.

The look on Liam’s face knocks the air out of Justin - a mixture of pain, sadness, and something the blond can’t identify but which scares the shit out of him. His heart is hammering in his chest now, so fucking fast, that he feels like he can’t breathe.

“You can’t…” Liam tries to speak, but he’s too upset. He winces and turns around once more, letting out a loud, “Fuck!” while Justin stands still, not understanding why he is shaking as he witnesses Liam’s outburst.

And then, Liam walks over to him and kisses him.

Justin is so astounded that he doesn’t respond immediately, but his body reacts to the brunet’s touch before his mind understands what’s happening. He can feel his heartbeat resonating in his ears, the rush of blood through his veins unmistakable as the world fades away. Liam’s lips are claiming his with an unexpected passion, the brunet’s tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, probing while his hands roam over Justin’s hair, his neck, his cheeks. Justin allows Liam to dive in, and it's warm and wet and hot and feverish, and for a second, the blond forgets everything and just feels.

But then, his mind starts screaming. This touch, these lips, these feelings only one man has ever engendered, he shouldn't feel them. Not now, not after so many years without him. And yet, he does, which can only mean one thing.

His heart skips a beat as he recognizes him.

For a fleeting moment, he tries to resist the truth, tries to deny that Brian could be so cruel as to let him believe he’s dead, when he is breathing and living.

But he can’t, because he knows these lips, intimately. He recognizes the gentleness of his fingers, the urgency of his kiss, the way Brian has always touched him like no one else exists but him, if only for a brief moment. He breathes in his scent, questioning how he could have been so blind, torn between his need to yell and cry, and the urge to hug Brian as tight as he can. No matter his choice, he will fall apart anyway.

He feels tears on his cheeks as he breaks the kiss and tightens his arms around Brian, his nose burrowing into the brunet’s neck, inhaling deeply. For a few seconds, he allows himself to love him, ignoring the lie and focusing on the thought that he is alive.

But all too soon, he can’t bear the embrace any longer and pushes Brian away.

“Brian…” the name escapes his lips as soon as their eyes lock, Brian flinching as he realizes that Justin knows, hearing the pain in his voice.

The blond shakes his head and steps back, needing to put some distance between them.

“Justin, wait!” Brian tries to stop him, so he turns and starts to run.

He isn’t sure how long he runs or how he keeps from falling. When he stops, he prays Brian hasn’t followed him. He is breathless, livid from the betrayal, barely feeling the tears running down his cheeks. He’s never felt anything like this.

Stumbling, he almost trips over a tree trunk, and collapses to the ground.

 


	10. I should never have left you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months without posting, here I am again.  
> As always, all my gratitude goes to my beta Karynn, who is always encouraging me :) And also to the readers following the story in my private doc, you rock!

**_Near the Chalet, Wednesday night, 11:30 p.m…_ **

Brian can’t think, except to acknowledge that he needs to find Justin, having lost track of him minutes ago. He stumbles into the woods, fighting to force air into his lungs, haunted by Justin’s gaze when he pushed him away, by the way he pronounced his name as he understood who Liam Byron really was.

Using the light from his phone to guide his steps, Brian tries to discern his surroundings and stops in the middle of a narrow track. He has no idea where Justin has gone, but it can’t be that far since it’s darker in that direction and therefore harder to find his way. All Brian can see are trees and bushes, however. He attempts to calm himself so he can listen for any sign indicating the blond’s location, but he hears nothing, so he resumes his search. 

He refuses to think about what it all means. The pressure in his chest is already unbearable enough. Brian has no control over what will happen, not to mention that the FBI is going to have his ass for inadvertently revealing who he is. Although Brian knows, deep down, that a part of him wanted Justin to know the truth, or he would never have kissed him. But he can’t help but wonder what the fuck he really hoped to accomplish, risking everything for a brief reminiscence of his past. 

Of course, Justin has always been able to make him do things he’d never considered before. That’s why he’s combing the woods at almost three a.m., more than an hour after Justin disappeared. He’s worried that, considering the state Justin is in, being out there could be dangerous. But he also knows Justin doesn’t want to be found and decides to momentarily give up the search, hoping his former lover will eventually agree to talk to him. 

When he arrives at the chalet, the rental is still in the same spot. Brian sits on the swing bench and waits, hoping for a miracle.

***

Justin hasn’t moved for the past couple of hours. At first, he wanted to scream, but he was too afraid Brian would hear him. Now, he is in some kind of trance, has been for a while. He can’t move, can’t stand up, so he stays here, leaning against a tree and waiting.

It’s unreal. Every time he thinks, ‘Brian is alive’, his eyes moisten. He’s not sure of the reason, if it’s the lie, the overwhelming sense of deceit, or this hint of joy he doesn’t know what to do with. He’s missed Brian so much. He grieved for him for years, and what he feels now that he knows Brian was alive the whole time is killing him. The mere thought of facing Liam - Brian - petrifies him. He doesn’t know if he will yell or cry or hug him or not say anything at all and leave.

Justin exhales deeply and looks up, tears running down his face. He can barely discern the branches against the night sky. His body is shaking from the cold or shock, maybe both. A cry echoes through the woods, probably from an animal, but Justin doesn’t react to it. He swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head in an effort to get rid of these overpowering feelings. In the end, he can’t, so he sobs some more.

He loses track of time. When he stops crying and gazes upward again, he realizes the sky is getting lighter. Sunrise must be close, which means he’s been sitting here for hours. He doesn’t want to move, but he can’t stay here forever, and no matter how mad he is at Brian, he also knows the brunet must be worried sick about him by now. So, he slowly gets up, brushing debris off of his pants. Looking around, he realizes that in his haste to put as much distance between himself and Brian as possible, he didn’t pay attention to the surroundings and therefore doesn’t know where he is. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as he begins to walk, assuming if he finds the lake he will be able to locate the chalet. 

He wanders around before fortuitously encountering the path to the lake. He keeps walking as the sun begins to rise. When he reaches the chalet, he sees him immediately, sitting outside. No matter how hard he tries not to cry again, he can’t stop the tears, but he barely feels them running down his face as he moves toward Brian. He halts in front of the porch, the brunet looking down at him. 

Justin comes closer as Brian stands up. It’s obvious the brunet is as much as an emotional mess as he is and doesn’t know what to do or say. Justin keeps gazing at his face, trying to understand why he didn’t recognize him, although he realizes that on some level he did, even if his mind refused to believe it. Moreover, Brian has done a great job disguising his appearance. Those eyeglasses, coupled with the beard and the Aston cap, have completely transformed him. 

Justin removes Brian’s cap, placing it on the bench. He then takes the glasses off of the brunet’s face, his heart missing a beat as he finally sees Brian’s eyes and notices they're a different color thanks to the contacts he’s using. 

Gazing at the turmoil in those black eyes, he steps closer. He raises his hand, touching Brian’s face. The brunet closes his eyes as he does, and before he realizes what he’s doing, Justin envelops Brian in his arms.

Brian shivers. They don’t talk, since Justin doesn’t want to, not yet. He knows when they do, it’s going to be ugly. For now, he just needs to be with Brian for a while. The shock of knowing he’s alive is beginning to wear off, yet it’s impossible to describe how he feels as he holds him. He has prayed for this moment countless times, knowing it would never happen. And now that it has, he may be beyond grateful, but he is also incredibly angry.

Thus, when he steps back and breaks their embrace, his voice immediately takes on a cold edge. “How could you?” he whispers harshly. While one part of him may not care that the last six years were a lie if it means Brian is alive, another part of him hates the brunet for it, and for letting everyone endure the ordeal of his death. “How could you let your friends and family think you were dead?” 

Brian doesn’t respond, averting his eyes.

“Answer me,” Justin demands. When Brian keeps ignoring his question, he pushes him backward and snarls, “Fucking answer me!”

“Don’t,” Brian warns, managing to hold still. “I can explain, I just…” 

“You just what? Accidently forgot to tell us you were alive? What?” Justin snaps.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Brian retorts.

“Oh, no, you don’t…” Justin barks derisively. “People only use that one when they are too chicken shit to tell the truth.” 

“You don’t know anything!” Brian suddenly yells.

“So tell me!” Justin exclaims, although as he hears his own voice, he realizes how tired he is. He can’t handle another lie, but even more, he worries that he might not be able to bear the truth. It’s impossible to believe that Brian had one good reason to fake his death. 

Brian sighs. “Sit down,” he commands, waiting for Justin to comply. When the blond hesitates, Brian insists, “Please.”

Justin holds the brunet’s gaze for a few seconds, but finally takes a seat on the bench.

“I’m going to make coffee. If you want to hear the whole story, we’re going to need it.” Brian informs him. 

“You won’t lie this time?” Justin can’t help but question.

Brian stills in the door frame. After a few seconds, he replies, “I never lied to you.”

Justin stares at Brian, shaking his head. “You have some fucking nerve to-”

“Justin,” Brian cuts him off firmly. “I’m going to tell you everything. If you still feel like I’m a lying piece of shit afterward, then you can spit in my face. But do me a favor. Stop judging me before I’ve explained.”

Something in the brunet’s voice stops Justin from protesting. 

***

Brian retrieves two cups from a cabinet and pours hot coffee into them. He makes his way back to Justin and sits next to him, handing him a cup. Justin accepts it, wrapping his hands around the mug to warm them. 

“You’re cold?” Brian asks. It’s barely five-fifty in the morning, and even though the air is fairly mild, Justin is shaking.

“No,” Justin denies.

Brian frowns. He stands up before Justin can protest, disappearing inside the house and returning a few seconds later with a large blanket, which he carefully places around Justin’s shoulders.

Justin tenses but swaddles himself in the warm cover.

Brian picks up his cup of coffee, taking a sip. He can’t believe he’s going to tell Justin everything. Hell, he’s having a hard time processing that Justin knows he used to be Brian Kinney. 

“I’m not sure where to start.” Brian whispers, breaking the deafening silence. 

“Maybe start with your supposed death?” Justin interjects sardonically. “Since, obviously, you weren’t murdered like we’ve all thought for six years.”

“Obviously,” Brian echoes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to be involved in this mess.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Justin snorts. “Although I’m still wondering why you risked talking to me in the first place. I assume I wasn’t supposed to know you’re alive, was I?” 

Brian doesn’t respond to Justin’s assumption, letting the blond know he’s right. Truthfully, he should have kept his distance and refused his request to learn more about photography. At the time, Brian convinced himself he was doing it so he’d know why Justin was in Lakevallée, but that’s bullshit. 

Something must show on his face, because Justin doesn’t push the matter. In fact, the blond reaches out and covers his hand briefly, before letting go as if realizing what he's just done. The gesture shakes Brian. Justin has always been able to read him better than anyone else, but knowing he still does is both comforting and disturbing, especially considering how angry the blond is.

“Let’s start with the very beginning, six years ago,” Brian says, clearing his throat, “when I saw something that I shouldn’t have and was left to die in a parking garage.”

“You mean… you really were shot?” Justin inquires in astonishment, having probably thought that Brian had orchestrated his death.

“I was,” Brian confirms quietly. “I woke up more than two years later, to a world where everybody I knew thought I was dead.”

“What do you mean you-” Justin begins, but the brunet cuts him off.

“Justin,” Brian urges, “if you want to hear my story, stop interrupting.” 

The truth is, relating all that happened to him is fucking hard. He’s had nightmares for years now, and he’s never talked about it with anyone, except Carl. And even then, he’s never been able to tell the whole truth.

“I was shot in the parking garage at the precinct, the night I went to provide a statement against a guy named Harry Malone for being involved in the murder of the hustler Debbie found in the dumpster.”

“Jason Kemp?” Justin asks.

Brian nods. “That guy, Malone, told Stockwell to off Kemp. He was the largest contributor to Jim’s campaign, and still is one of the most influential motherfuckers in the Pitts, with connections all over the country. He is a criminal, a trafficker in stolen art, and... a murderer.”

“He… he tried to kill you?” Justin deduces, obviously shaken. 

“He did,” Brian looks down at his hands. “I would have died, if Detective Horvath and Agent Bennett hadn’t found me so quickly.”

“But they said your body was found in an alley.” Justin mutters.

“It was a lie,” Brian denies, “to protect me. Horvath and Bennett discovered evidence that Malone had threatened to kill the people I cared about if I didn’t die.” 

“What do you mean?” Justin interrogates agitatedly. “You mean it was you or… everyone else?”

“Apparently.” Brian responds. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember what happened?” Justin seems more and more surprised.

“No. That night is a complete blank for me.” Brian affirms in a low voice, before explaining, “But since being alive meant that you were all in danger, Horvath and Bennett decided to contact the U.S. Marshals service. They advised them to tell everyone that I had died, so whoever tried to kill me wouldn’t finish the job. It was unlikely I would survive anyway. The bullet fractured my skull and caused a massive hemorrhage, even though the shooter’s aim was off.” Brian pauses, allowing Justin to process all this information. When the blond doesn’t say anything for a bit too long, Brian quips, “Your tongue missing?”

“I… can’t believe you really were shot,” Justin utters in shock, the brunet hearing the unmistakable edge in his voice. 

Brian impulsively reaches for the blond’s leg and squeezes it in reassurance, as he reminds him, “Hey... I’m okay.”

“I know,” Justin whispers, gazing up at Brian. Their eyes lock for a few seconds, before Brian eventually withdraws his hand, as the blond encourages, “Tell me more about… shit.” He curses, having a hard time processing what has happened to Brian as he repeats incredulously, “You were in a coma for two years?”

“Yes… waking up after so long is quite an unpleasant experience, not to mention that rehab is fucking hell. I may be lucky the bullet didn’t kill me, but the damage it caused was… quite hard to overcome.” Brian divulges. “As for discovering that everyone in your life thinks you’re dead, well…”

“How did you deal with…I mean, when you woke up…” Justin stammers, obviously trying to understand what Brian must have felt back then, although he doesn't know how to formulate his question.

“My brain was damaged, which in this case was a blessing,” Brian volunteers. “I couldn’t really think normally and was just fighting to get through one day at a time. It took me months to recover, to regain the power of speech, to dress myself, to eat on my own, to walk, to fully understand the extent of what had happened to me.” Brian remembers, knowing he’s come a long way since then. “For months, I didn’t realize my previous life was over. You’d be surprised what the brain is capable of doing to protect itself.” 

Justin tenses next to Brian.

“Brian Kinney is really dead, you know,” the brunet enunciates. 

The doctors had explained that considering the severity of his brain injury, he would most likely never be the man he once was. And the truth is, Brian believes they were right. He acts differently since that time, which is probably why Justin didn't recognize him. Of course, hiding from a psychopath hasn’t helped him reconnect with the person he once was either.

Justin ignores his statement and asks, “I still don’t get why you stayed away. Why come up with a new identity in Lakevallée?”

“Because,” Brian replies, “for one, I was officially dead. Two, Malone is a fucking murderer, but he’s also smart. The FBI has been tracking him for years, but they still don’t have any evidence that would lead to his conviction. And unfortunately, my testimony regarding Jason Kemp’s murder is useless, even more so now that Stockwell is dead and can’t verify my statement.”

Justin frowns, “Why would Malone have you shot if it wasn't enough to convict him then?”

“I don’t know. He probably thought I had more information than I really had. Or maybe he wanted me dead because I talked to the police in the first place. Who knows with a psycho like him?” Brian asserts. “Both the FBI and the US Marshals service are convinced if he knew I’m alive, he would still have me hunted down and killed. Because of course, the guy can’t stand to lose.”

“So you hid here for all these years, waiting for the day he’d be arrested.” Justin discerns.

“I entered the witness protection program.” Brian clarifies. “I became Liam Byron, a photographer in Lakevallée, officially raised as an only child in New York, and whose parents died in a car accident when he was younger. Well, that’s the story I’m supposed to relate if asked.”

“But…” Justin stammers, “it’s not true. Your mother…” his voice trails off. Gazing up at Brian in shock, Justin whispers, “Joan? She… she died?”

Brian gazes at Justin and nods.

***

Knowing all that Brian has been through is making Justin sick. He would be lying if he were to say he’s forgiven him for staying away for so long, but the blond’s anger is dwindling, now replaced by a deep feeling of unfairness. If he could, he would tell Brian that everything is going to be okay. He so badly wants to kill the motherfucker responsible for their ordeal, never once having thought he could loathe a man like he does Malone. Not even Chris Hobbs succeeded in eliciting such hatred from him.

He hates himself, too. He can’t help it, even though it’s an irrational feeling. He knows he isn’t to blame, but his head can’t overrule his emotions, and his heart is yelling at him for giving up on Brian all those years ago. Listening to him telling his story feels like a punishment, but most of all, looking at the brunet’s face as he claims Brian Kinney is dead is like a punch to the gut. 

Justin questions if Brian is right, if the man he knew survived - knowing firsthand how a damaged brain can change you, not necessarily for the better. When Justin was attacked, he became sullen, hesitant, and needy. To this day, he’s still pretty sure he wouldn’t have left Brian if not for the bashing. The physical injuries weren’t the only factor that made him lose his self-esteem, his confidence. The knowledge that a man wanted him dead caused as much damage, if not more. 

In Brian’s case, it’s even worse. Not only did he suffer a trauma from which he barely recovered, but he went through it all alone, with no one to help him. He lost everything, every person who mattered to him, his job, his friends. 

And now his mother is dead. Sure, she was a cold, pathetic bitch, but she was his mom. Between her passing and the fact that he had to pretend not to know Justin, it’s no wonder Brian yelled and threw him out the day before. 

“You want to talk about it?” Justin proposes, scooting closer to Brian.

“About what?” Brian hoarsely asks.

“Your mom…” Justin specifies. “I can’t imagine what you must have felt when you learned about her. Who told you?”

“Allen,” Brian answers. At Justin’s interrogative stare, he clarifies, “He’s FBI. He’s been leading the investigation of Malone for the past four years.”

Justin shakes his head, imagining the news of his mother’s death being delivered so abruptly after so many years in hiding. “I can’t begin to imagine what you've been through…” he utters, itching to touch Brian.

The brunet peers at him. As he does, Justin moves even closer and, refusing to think about it, he simply leans in and kisses Brian. His companion immediately responds, grabbing him by the neck and breathing hard against his mouth as they both deepen the kiss.

A rush of longing courses through Justin’s body at the first touch of Brian’s tongue against his own. This is Brian. The blond is still processing that he’s here, in his arms, claiming his lips and making him his with a single kiss. He never thought he would have this again and, truthfully, describing how it makes him feel wouldn't make sense. Putting into words the feeling of having the man he loves back - the man he’s always loved - when he tried to accept for years that he was really gone, would be ludicrous. 

“Brian…” Justin utters in wonder against his lips, before devouring the brunet’s mouth again as he moves to straddle his lap. The cover falls from his shoulders, Brian immediately accommodating him and enveloping him in his arms. 

Brian’s hands slide into his hair, gripping his locks as he abandons himself to Justin’s touch, smashing their lips together, invading and probing. The blond doesn’t know how long they kiss. He is consumed by his emotions, by the bliss his body feels, assaulted by years of grieving and yearning. 

When their lips finally break apart, Justin needs a minute to catch his breath. He places his cheek against Brian’s, not ready yet to lean back. The brunet is panting in his ear, his hand softly caressing his neck. Justin’s heart fills with something indefinable, and he suddenly hugs Brian again, tightening his grip.

Brian lets him, even though he is squeezing too hard. Justin begins to cry then, and every time Brian tries to makes him lean back so he can look at him, the blond only hugs him harder. 

“Hey…” Brian breathes out, his warm breath tickling the side of his neck. “Justin…” he calls his name as gently as he can.

Justin shakes his head against Brian’s shoulder and buries his nose deeper in his neck. He isn’t sure why he is reacting this way. “I’m sorry,” he eventually mumbles when he stops crying, wiping the tears away from his face.

“What for?” Brian inquires tenderly, placing a chaste kiss on his temple.

“For letting you go?” Justin answers, peering up so that he can look into Brian’s eyes. “I should never have left you.”

Brian’s eyes soften as he understands what Justin is talking about. “You wanted something I couldn’t give you.”

“No, I didn’t,” Justin replies. “I was just a scared kid who made a mistake.”

“Does it matter now?” Brian questions with a sad smile. “You can’t change the past and neither can I.”

“No, hear me out,” Justin ignores Brian’s dismissive statement, professing instead, “I love you. I always have.”

Brian looks away. 

“It’s the truth,” Justin insists, placing his hand on Brian’s cheek to force the man to gaze back at him. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” Brian counters, pushing Justin off his lap. “You still have your life and we can’t...” he nervously rubs his face and snorts, “we can’t ignore that I’m supposed to be dead and that you can’t tell anyone I’m alive. Once you return to Philadelphia, this…” he gesticulates between himself and Justin, “whatever we're doing here, this will be over.”

“What? No!” Justin denies, standing up to face the brunet. He has just found Brian again; how can the older man think he will agree to leave him?

“You think this is what I want?” Brian glares up at him. “That we have a choice?”

Justin’s brow furrows. “We can figure something out.”

“No.” Brian cuts him off, standing up himself and moving to the edge of the porch.

Justin walks to his side. “But Brian-”

“Justin… I can’t leave this town.” Brian elucidates as he directs his gaze at him. “And you staying here or visiting or whatever the fuck you decide to do will only lead to people becoming suspicious that something is going on. Either way, you need to leave.”

Justin realizes the situation is fucked up. But he isn’t ready yet to let go. “We don’t have to say anything to anyone. I could move here and pretend it’s because I fell in love with the town. It would hardly be a lie.” 

“It’s not that simple. The FBI already knows you're here.” Brian informs him. “And believe me, if you push it, I’m sure they will have no problem making me disappear again.” 

“So don’t let them!” Justin begs, placing his hands on Brian’s chest.

“And risk something happening to you?” Brian reformulates, placing his hands on top of Justin’s. “I can’t do that.” 

Justin steps back. How can Brian appear so resigned when the mere thought of being apart makes Justin’s blood run cold? “You're not even going to pretend that you care?” The words escape before he has time to think.

“For Chrissake, Justin, of course I care!” Brian explodes. “I care enough to be scared shitless that Malone will find me and decide he should teach me a lesson by killing the people I love, just because he can. I’d even be willing to start over one more time if it means you're safe, because if we’re together, you won’t ever be. Don’t you get it?”

Justin feels his heart thump erratically in his chest. “I…” he utters, taken aback by Brian’s reality check. “I just…”

Brian cups Justin’s cheeks in his hands, forcing the younger man to look at him. “You’re going to go on with your life, like you planned.”

Justin snorts derisively. “Right.”

“You have no choice.” Brian insists, his eyes boring into Justin’s.

“So you say,” Justin argues, leaning back and breaking their touch.

Brian’s face hardens. “For fuck’s sake, Justin, stop behaving like a brat.”

“Fuck you!” Justin snaps back angrily. “You think you’re going to dictate what I do? Well, think again! I lost you for almost six years, there’s no way I’m going to  _ go on _ with my life.” He spits the words disdainfully before storming inside the chalet.

“What are you doing?” Brian inquires in astonishment as he follows Justin inside, the blond stopping by the couch to grab his duffle bag.

“I’m going to crash at Connor’s.” Justin responds without bothering to turn around, stuffing his sketchbook into his bag. As he zips it, he articulates, “I need to think about what I’m going to do, and I can’t do that here, when you’ve obviously already planned everything that’s going to happen in  _ my _ life.” 

“Justin…” Brian calls out to him, a hint of fear tinging his voice. It’s almost enough to make him cave, but not quite.

“I need some time,” Justin asserts, looking up at Brian. Noticing the fear on the man’s face, he softens, “I’ll be back later, I promise. I just need to be alone right now.”

“You mean, you need some time away from me,” Brian clarifies.

Justin sighs, nodding, “I do.” He walks to Brian, gazing at him, inquiring, “Can you blame me?”

Brian stares at him for a few seconds, before finally shaking his head.

“I’ll be back,” Justin promises once more. He kisses Brian’s cheek - the brunet standing immobile as Justin’s lips linger on his skin - before walking out of the chalet.

  
  
  
  



	11. Taking a step back

**_Connor’s house, Thursday, July 23rd, 6:50 a.m._ **

Connor rubs his face, trying to get rid of his tiredness. After Gabriel’s stunning declaration the previous night, he barely slept, having spent most of his time replaying the kiss they shared, still astounded that Gabriel told him that he loved him. 

He’s just taken a shower and is now standing with only his pants on in front of the mirror. “What the fuck are you going to do, you dumbass?” he asks his reflection as he raises his hand and tentatively touches the skin under his eye. 

He flinches slightly - cursing the man who thought he needed to punch him to make his point clear. “Fucking dickless wonder,” he fulminates, before grabbing his shirt and putting it on.

With a sigh, he takes some cream from the medicine cabinet, flips it open, and rubs it into his skin, hoping to soothe the irritated spot and reduce the swelling. He then adds concealer, cursing Liam for having noticed the bruise.

Once he’s done, he shuffles out of the bathroom and heads towards the kitchen. He grabs a cup of coffee to prepare a Nespresso, and cuts a bun in two pieces that he drops into the toaster. A couple of minutes later, he is stirring his coffee absently as he thinks some more about Gabriel, when someone knocks at the door. At first, he doesn’t react, although he questions who could be there, especially this early. Then he shrugs, deciding that whoever is at the door isn’t worth the effort to cross the room, not to mention abandoning his breakfast.

The persistent fucker knocks again, however, and Connor rolls his eyes as he hears Justin calling his name. Chewing on his bun, he briefly considers ignoring the blond but decides against it. He engulfs the rest of his breakfast in one bite and saunters over to the front door.

“Jussin.” He grins with all his teeth as a welcome, his cheeks full of the bun.

Justin makes a face. “Connor, please swallow.”

Connor obeys and replies with a smirk, “You may sound like a porn star, but you look like a fucking mess.”

“Can I come in?” Justin inquires, ignoring Connor’s witty comment.

“Sure,” Connor agrees, dropping the humorous act, sensing that Justin needs a friend right now, not an annoying buffoon.

“Thanks,” Justin says as Connor opens the door to let him in. He pauses when he notices the painter gazing down at his hand emphatically. 

“That,” Connor points with a frown, “is a duffle bag.”

Justin glances down, his brow furrowing. Peering up, he drawls, “You’re quite the observer.”

Connor tilts his head. “You know what I mean.”

Justin bites his lip. Noticing the gleam in Connor’s eyes, he clarifies, “This isn’t what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think,” Connor enunciates, “but I will tell you anyway. You look like a truck ran over you, so... I’m deducing you spent the night crying because you finally realized you were in love with the wrong man. Until of course, you picked up your fancy knapsack - because you couldn’t resist the pull any longer - and came here to throw yourself into my arms.”

Justin chuckles, joshing, “You wish.”

“From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I always knew we were meant to be,” Connor teases, before grabbing the duffle bag from Justin’s hands and heading to the stairs. Stopping at the bottom, he gazes back at Justin, inquiring, “What are you waiting for?”

Justin seems to puzzle things over for a moment. “You’re not serious about us being destined for each other, right?”

Connor smirks. “I almost want to be, looking at your expression right now. But even though this will always be my deepest regret - and I truly, and I mean,  _ truly _ , feel horrible for crushing your illusions - I need you to know we won’t ever be able to consummate our love.”

“That’s awful,” Justin plays along.

“I know. I would be devastated too if I were you.” Connor deadpans. “But it is what it is. So until you figure out whatever you need to figure out, you’re stuck with your hand to pleasure yourself in my guest room. Although I’d advise you to sleep first, because I’m concerned you won’t be able get it up until you get some rest.”

Connor expects Justin to smile at his stupid repartee, but the blond just stares at him as if realizing something. The painter is well aware that Justin’s presence in his house means something happened with Liam. But Justin obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and even if he did, Connor wouldn’t let him, because the blond is swaying on his feet at the moment. 

“Come on,” Connor urges when Justin doesn’t move. “I’m even going to make the bed with clean sheets while you relax in my five-star shower before crashing. I don’t change the bedding for just anyone, you know?”

At last, Justin’s lips curl upward as he moves toward the stairs. “You promise that you cleaned your sheets less than ten years ago?”

“You’re hurting my heart, Justin Taylor,” Connor playfully responds, before climbing the stairs and guiding Justin to the spare room.

***

**_7:30 a.m._ **

Gabriel turns off his Jeep next to Connor’s Mustang and frowns when he notices another car parked in front of the painter’s house. Exiting the vehicle, he walks to the front door but doesn’t have the time to knock before Connor appears.

“Gabriel…” The painter says his name, startled to see him.

“Hey. Is this a bad time?” Gabriel inquires, trying to look inside the house before glancing at the car.

Connor’s brow furrows. “What?” Following Gabriel’s gaze, he sees Justin’s rental. “Oh... it’s Justin.”

“Justin?” Gabriel echoes quizzically. “What is he doing here?”

“Dunno.” Connor retorts, before inquiring curtly, “What do you want?”

Gabriel doesn’t reply, merely raising his eyebrows. 

“I don’t have time for this.” Connor dismisses him, grabbing his keys. “My mother is waiting for me. Whining, Big Belly Elly is sick again.” he declares as he closes the door behind him and slides the key into the lock.

When he turns around, Gabriel approaches him, effectively trapping him against the door. 

“What are you doing?” Connor asks.

“Did you hear me last night?” Gabriel inquires quietly, cupping Connor’s cheek. He’s relieved to feel the brunet lean into him, although he also senses Connor wants to resist, which puzzles him. He knows the man has feelings for him, so why is he being so distant, when Gabriel is finally ready to give him everything? The blond would understand if Connor didn’t trust him or held a grudge, but he somehow feels this is not the problem.

“I did,” Connor responds to his question with a sigh.

“I meant it,” Gabriel professes. 

Connor snorts. “Uh-huh…” he utters, closing his eyes when Gabriel starts caressing his face, his thumb brushing against his lips. But all of a sudden, he straightens up and steps away from Gabriel’s touch. “I need to go.”

“Connor,” Gabriel frowns. He’s certain Connor is trying to avoid him, so without thinking any further, he blurts out, “I owe you a dinner.”

“What? No, you don’t.” Connor refutes as he heads to his car, with Gabriel on his heels. As he is about to unlock the Mustang, the blond snatches the keys from his hand. 

“If you want them back, you have to agree to have dinner with me tonight.” Gabriel bargains with a smirk, shaking the keys under Connor’s nose. The brunet tries to grab them thrice, but Gabriel reacts too quickly.

“Give them back!” Connor demands, annoyed by the blond’s ploy.

“No,” Gabriel taunts, shaking his head and evading Connor once more. 

“I’ll go by foot if you don’t give me my keys,” Connor stubbornly threatens, glancing up at the dark clouds above their heads.

“Be my guest,” Gabriel ripostes, indicating the road with his hand. “You’ll be late. I’d offer you a ride, but since you’re a rude character, I know you’d turn me down.”

“I’ll jog,” Connor retorts, eying his classy Bugatti boots.

“Run fast then, since it’s going to rain any second now,” Gabriel advises, just as the first drop falls from the sky.

Connor glares at him, then up the sky, yelling, “Traitor!” As soon as the word escapes his lips, the rain begins to pour down, soaking both men in less than ten seconds.

“Fine!” Connor relents. “Give me my fucking keys!”

“Not until you promise to spend the whole evening with me, and not gulp down your dinner in less than five minutes.” At Connor’s offended expression, Gabriel laughs. “I know you too well, remember?”

Drops of water run along Connor’s face as he finally barks out a laugh. “I promise,” he mocks in a high-pitched tone.

“And,” Gabriel approaches him, still keeping the keys out of reach, “you have to kiss me. Right here, right now.”

Connor can’t repress a smile as the blond stops a few inches from him. He finally caves in, promising, “You’re so going to pay for this.” 

“I’m counting on it,” Gabriel replies bashfully, rolling his lips into his mouth.

Connor’s smile vanishes. His eyes bore into Gabriel’s with an intensity that makes the blond’s heart skip a beat, the brunet grabbing the man’s collar before sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their lips together.

Gabriel drops the keys and deepens the kiss, forgetting all about the rain.

***

**_Liam’s studio, 2:30 p.m._ **

Brian tries to focus on the paperwork he’s supposed to submit to his main supplier. He’s barely slept, having crashed for a couple of hours around seven this morning, until he woke up from a bad dream. Justin was chasing him with a gun in a parking garage, shots resonating around him until a bullet entered his brain and made him fall. He kept moving nonetheless, which was impossible, of course, but in the dream, he finally managed to turn over and peer up at Justin. And then, the blond had flatly announced that there was just one bullet left and had shot himself in the head, his limp body collapsing onto the cement. 

Brian awakened screaming and has been in a funk ever since. Not that he was feeling good anyway. Since Justin left this morning, he’s questioned a hundred times what has been accomplished by revealing everything to the blond. Sure, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, especially since Justin agreed to hear him out, but the truth is, he’s put the blond in danger and hates himself for it. He should have known Justin wouldn’t agree to leave, ignoring his own safety. What the fuck was Brian thinking?

Moreover, he should call Allen and tell him everything since the FBI agent was very adamant during his last visit that he be kept informed, but he doesn’t want to. Although, he needs the FBI to protect Justin, so he may not have a choice but to call after all.

With a sigh, Brian decides to give up on getting paperwork done today. A few customers are strolling around the studio, so he should probably join them instead.

Standing up, Brian is about to walk out of his office when Gabriel comes in.

“Hey, Liam,” Gabriel greets him with a small smile.

“Hey,” Brian returns. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to give you this,” Gabriel explains, handing Brian a book. “It’s the retrospective of the annual photography exhibition.”

“Thanks,” Brian accepts the gift, noticing one of his pictures is displayed on the cover. “Your editor used my work for the cover?”

“He did,” Gabriel confirms with a smile. At Brian’s incredulous stare, he admits, “I suggested it.”

“Like the true friend you are,” Brian drawls playfully as he carefully opens the beautiful book, leafing through the pages while walking back to sit at his desk.

“I went to Connor’s place this morning,” Gabriel informs him nonchalantly, although Brian understands immediately why his friend is mentioning it.

“How was Grouchy?” Brian inquires without bothering to look up.

“He…” Gabriel trails off.

Brian gazes up with a frown when his friend doesn’t elaborate any further. Noticing the look on Gabriel’s face, he closes the book and commends, “Finally, you’ve grown some balls. Good for you.”

“Fuck you!” Gabriel retorts, narrowing his eyes at Brian. “You’re one to speak. I thought Justin was supposed to stay at your place.”

Brian looks away. “Justin is a big boy. He can do as he pleases.”

“Liam,” Gabriel calls out to him, probably surmising that something is going on, but Brian can’t let his friend try to talk some sense into him when the gallery owner doesn’t know anything about what’s really happening.

“Listen,” Brian interrupts him, placing his arms around the man’s shoulders to guide him back to the door, “I’m kind of busy right now, so why don’t you-”

“Cut it out.” Gabriel isn’t fooled. “I know something’s going on between you and Justin. You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. But be careful not to make the same mistake that I did.”

“Don’t worry, there will be no mistake because there is nothing between me and Justin.” Brian counters, the lie slipping easily from his lips. “By the end of the week, he will be gone, and I will still be stuck in our lovely town with you and Mr. High and Mighty.”

Gabriel isn’t convinced though, and insists, “Liam, you-” 

“Drop it,” Brian sharply orders. “Seriously, Gabe, mind your own business.”

Gabriel frowns. Gazing down, he finally makes his way to the door but pauses with his hand on the knob, asking in a concerned tone, “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Brian instantly responds. He is anything but fine.

Gabriel sighs. “No, you’re not,” is all he says, not waiting for Brian’s reply before walking out the door. He therefore doesn’t see his friend flinch at his reply. 

A minute later, Brian picks up his phone.

***

**_Connor’s house, same time…_ **

Justin opens his eyes and blinks. He frowns, his gaze sweeping around the room as he stretches, trying to recall where he is. Noticing the three paintings on the wall next to the bed, he lets out a sigh, remembering he’s at Connor’s, but most of all, acknowledging why he’s here in the first place. 

He rubs his face, bending his knees. He thinks of Brian, the anger and betrayal he felt when he discovered his former lover was alive. He’s still coming to terms with all of it, trying to understand what Brian has gone through, how he must have felt when he woke up, brain damaged, to a world where everyone thought he was dead.

Justin is mad at Brian, however. Not for lying - not anymore - but for thinking the only thing to do now that he knows the truth, is for him to leave and move on with his life. Justin gets that he needs to keep quiet, since a fucking psycho is after Brian, but demanding that he stay away is completely fucked. He refuses to leave him, not caring that the brunet will insist that he’ll only be safe far away from him, or that the FBI will demand his departure. 

It’s not that simple, though. He can’t move to Lakevallée without his mother and his friends questioning his intentions or, even worse, planning a visit. Going back to Philly may be the smart thing to do, but he will go nuts knowing Brian is here while he’s thousands of miles away. 

His brow furrowing in frustration, he gets out of bed. Overthinking won’t solve anything, so he may as well go in search of a much-needed cup of coffee.

Taking a pair of clean pants and a shirt from his duffle bag, Justin pulls them on and exits the room. He hesitates briefly, listening for any sounds. Hearing Connor’s voice, he descends the stairs. He notices the painter in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and drinking a hot cup of tea while reading a book. For some reason, it makes him chuckle.

Connor interrupts his reading and gives him a questioning look, drawling, “I thought you were dead. You’ve been out for almost eight hours.”

“No such luck. I’m still alive,” Justin responds, peering at the Nespresso machine and pointing at it. “Can I?” 

“Help yourself. The capsules are in the drawer next to the Nespresso.” Connor replies, taking another sip of his beverage while peering down at his book, which appears to be a retrospective of Monet’s work. “You were able to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Justin affirms, retrieving a ristretto pod and putting it in the holder, prior to placing a cup under the nozzle and pressing the switch. “Thanks, for letting me in. You could have told me to fuck off.”

Connor snorts. “You could barely keep your eyes open.”

“True,” Justin nods. “But still, you didn’t have to let me stay.”

“Hmm,” Connor blows on his tea.

Justin picks up his Nespresso, gazing at the brunet, who pretends to be engrossed in his reading. Truthfully, Justin is amazed by Connor’s kindness. He could have demanded answers when the blond showed up on his doorstep but he didn’t, insisting that he sleep instead, and acting like a real friend.

Justin smiles softly as he goes to sit on the bar stool in front of Connor, waiting for the man to acknowledge him.

Connor glances over questioningly. “You need something or are you just looking at me because I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”

Justin is about to respond when his stomach growls.

“So, you want food,” Connor articulates with a roll of his eyes, snatching a paper bag from the counter and throwing it at Justin. 

Justin barely catches it. “What’s this?” he inquires, opening the bag and peering inside.

“Burger and fries to reheat.” Connor answers. 

“For me?” Justin inquires, astounded by Connor’s thoughtful gesture.

“No, for the wolves in the woods.” Connor mocks. “Are you always this eloquent when you first wake up?”

“Hey!” Justin protests, although he is truly touched. “I just need some food in my system to function properly.”

“Well, open your mouth and eat then,” Connor demands mischievously, turning a page.

Justin removes the burger and fries from the paper bag and goes in search of a plate. Once he locates one, he reheats the food in the microwave, and then sits back down. “Mmm,” he hums appreciatively as he takes the first bite of his burger. “This is good.”

“I made it myself,” Connor intones, standing up to take a banana from a fruit basket near the fridge.

“No, you didn’t,” Justin refutes as he takes another bite.

Connor grins broadly, peeling the fruit and putting it into his mouth, mimicking Justin’s moans from earlier. “Mmm…”

Justin almost chokes on his burger.

“It really resembles a cock, even in flavor,” Connor comments as he peers down at the banana, before stating innocently, “By the way, Liam called.”

Justin’s heart skips a beat. He focuses on his burger, slowly chewing the food. Once he has swallowed the bite, he takes another. He can feel Connor’s staring at him and prays that the painter won’t call him on his odd behavior. 

“You told me last night that I needed to give Gabriel a chance,” Connor declares out of the blue, prompting Justin to gaze up at him. “I’m not sure what happened with Liam, but maybe you should take your own advice and go back to him.”

“Did you?” Justin ignores Connor’s recommendation. 

Connor holds his gaze for a moment, before retorting, “That’s none of your business. And besides, Gabriel shouldn’t be with me.” He stands up to pour the remainder of his tea down the sink. 

“I don’t get it,” Justin interjects. “It’s obvious he cares about you. So why are you holding back?”

“You don’t know me,” Connor counters defensively, “and you’re one to talk. What are you doing here when Liam is waiting for you to return to him?”

“How do you know Liam and I…”

“Please, Justin,” Connor huffs. “I’d have to be blind not to see that something’s going on between the two of you.” 

Justin doesn’t know what to say. 

“You should call him. Tell him you’re… alright,” Connor suggests, before heading to the stairs. “I will be in my studio. Just knock if you need anything.”

Justin nods, watching the brunet disappear up the stairs. He peers down at his fries, his appetite gone. Pushing his plate aside, he takes his phone from his pocket and realizes he doesn’t have Brian’s number.

“Shit,” he curses, standing up and heading upstairs. On the second floor, he goes toward what he guesses to be the studio and knocks, before grabbing the handle and trying to open the door, frowning when he discovers it’s locked. “Connor?” he calls, trying to open the door again. 

He hears the painter mumbling something, followed by the click of the door being unlocked. “No need to break down my door,” Connor enunciates as he appears in front of Justin, exiting the studio and closing the door behind himself.

“I…” Justin hesitates. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Connor shakes his head. “You didn’t, I mean…” he stammers before asking, “You need something?”

“Yeah. Liam’s number,” Justin responds. 

Connor nods, retrieving his cell from the back pocket of his jeans. Giving the number to Justin, he then asks, “Anything else?”

“No,” Justin replies, quipping, “I’m not asking you to give me a tour.”

Connor actually looks contrite for a second, “You know how we geniuses are.” He shrugs. “No one enters this studio except me. I’m tempted to make an exception for you since you pout so adorably when you don’t get what you want, but… no can do. You’d bring those bad vibes with you and I’d need an exorcism of the entire space to get rid of them.”

“You’re wrong.” Justin retorts with a smirk. “Nothing inspires a queer more than a perfect ass, and I assure you, mine is a piece of art. You should really let me in.” 

Connor snorts, grinning. “Nice try.”

“You really aren’t going to show me more of your work, are you?” Justin laughs.

“I don’t like people looking at my work, unless it’s finished,” Connor confesses uncomfortably, and Justin realizes he must have rarely admitted that to anyone. “I’m currently working on a new piece.”

“For the gallery’s collection?” Justin inquires, his interest piqued.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to be too nosy, Mr. Taylor?” Connor drawls.

“Sorry,” Justin flashes him an apologetic smile. “I’ll let you work, I promise.”

Connor gives him a small nod and steps back into the studio. He is about to close the door, but Justin prevents him from doing so, moving forward and placing his hand on the surface.

“I didn’t thank you properly for… giving me a place to crash without asking any questions.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” Connor contradicts, a gleam appearing in his eyes. “I told you yesterday that you could use my sheets and smell my dirty underwear anytime. Although now that I think about it, I’m disappointed you didn’t ask for a pair to use as a blankie so you could fall asleep to that enticing aroma.”

Justin chuckles. “Well, I may have passed on sniffing your jockstrap, but I deeply appreciate what you did for me.”

“Stop being so polite.” Connor quips, “For your information, I only use boxers, or occasionally string bikinis to enhance my dick, although I’ve never gotten used to the cord between my cheeks.” He smirks, brushing Justin’s hand away from the door. “Now, can I go back to work, or are you going to hit on me all day?”

Justin laughs, Connor raising his eyebrows playfully before closing the studio door in his face. The blond then walks to his room and sits on the bed, hesitating briefly before dialing Brian.

The man curtly answers on the first ring. “Liam Byron.”

“Liam?” Justin uses his false name on a hunch, not certain he’s supposed to call Brian by his real name on the phone. Maybe he’s seen too many movies. 

“You okay?” Brian immediately inquires, Justin’s chest constricting as he hears the concern in the brunet’s voice.

“I’m fine,” Justin reassures Brian. “I will join you at the chalet soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Brian replies, obviously relieved that Justin doesn’t need more time on his own. 

“Later,” Justin promises.

He hears Brian’s breathing through the phone. “Later,” the brunet eventually answers, before disconnecting the call.

Justin lets his hand fall on the bed, lying down on his back with a smile. He is going to see Brian. The man is alive. Fuck, this is such a good feeling.

They have so many things to deal with, but Justin doesn’t care at the moment. Going to Connor’s hasn’t solved anything, but the blond has finally made up his mind. He won’t leave Brian until he absolutely has to. He won’t listen to his former lover if the man wants him to stay away. He will fight to be with him, to make Brian accept him in his life again, and he won’t fail, because when Justin Taylor wants something, he never quits, and he sure as hell isn’t starting today.

Satisfied with his decision, Justin gets up, packs his things, and throws his duffle bag over his shoulder, before walking out of the room. He hesitates in front of Connor’s door and considers knocking to inform him he’s leaving, before deciding against it, not wanting to disturb the painter.

He exits the house after writing a note and enters his rental. Checking the time, he notices it’s barely four-thirty, which means Brian won’t be able to leave his studio right away. Deciding to explore the valley - he’s wanted to draw the chalet’s surroundings ever since he first saw them with Brian - he types a quick message informing the brunet he will be there by five-thirty and turns on the car.

He doesn’t expect a deer to leap in front of his car as he navigates a rough road near the chalet. Wrenching the steering wheel to avoid the animal, Justin barely has the time to exclaim, “Fuck!” before his car hits a second deer and leaves the dirt road, ending up rolling over before halting, the bumper butting up against a pine tree.

  
  



	12. A first time

 

**_The gallery, first floor, Thursday, July 23rd, 6:45 p.m._ **

Gabriel juggles the mushroom sauce and the other dishes. Tossing the roasted mix of vegetables - potatoes, carrots, and new onions - he uses a spatula to pick up the meat and flip it over, the butter caramelizing the filet mignon. Once he’s satisfied everything is under control, he sets the dials to low, so all the dishes will simmer.

He’s fucking nervous. He strides to the dinner table and checks it one more time, rearranging the cutlery, just as a ring resonates through the apartment.

He takes a deep breath, muttering to himself, “You can do this.” before going to the door and pushing the intercom button to let Connor in.

After opening the front door, Gabriel sees the brunet approaching, talking on the phone.

“He left while I was in my studio. I haven’t seen him since this afternoon.” Connor intones. He peers at Gabriel, the look on his face making the blond understand that something’s wrong.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows questioningly. 

“It’s Liam,” Connor discloses before refocusing on his conversation with the photographer. “He’s probably lost track of time. You know that we artists are selfish douchebags.” 

“Give me the phone,” Gabriel demands, holding out his hand.

Connor narrows his eyes at Gabriel, but when the man keeps staring at him expectantly, he relents, informing Liam, “Your bestie wants to talk to you.” 

“Liam,” Gabriel greets his friend, snatching Connor’s phone. “What’s going on?” He waits for Liam’s response and makes a quick decision. “We’ll come and help you search for him.”

He ends the call, hurriedly turns off the burners, grabs a jacket, snatches his keys from the table, and joins Connor. Noticing the baffled look on his face, he pushes the brunet out of his apartment and locks the door behind them.

“You do realize that Liam is overreacting and that Justin is probably just connecting with himself. He’s the kind of artist who would dance naked in the sunshine and hop around trying to follow a butterfly.” Connor declares sardonically as they reach Gabriel’s car.

“Better safe than sorry,” Gabriel counters, sliding behind the wheel of his pickup. “If Liam called you, he must be worried. Put your seatbelt on.”

Connor pinches the back of Gabriel’s neck, obeying the man’s order nonetheless.

Gabriel rubs his abused skin as he drives off, quipping, “Why do you feel the need to be so loving?”

“You’re supposed to serenade me, not commiserate with Liam,” Connor deadpans.

“I’m supposed to serenade you?” Gabriel snorts. 

“Grovel would be more accurate,” Connor articulates. “Beg me, even.”

“Beg you for what?” Gabriel taunts, amused by the brunet’s repartee.

“So you end up in my bed and maybe then, if you ask nicely, I will suck you off,” Connor replies.

Gabriel pretends to think about it, responding, “Hmm, that’s good to know. I may consider a little begging then.”

Connor gives him a look but keeps quiet for the rest of the ride.

***

Brian has been waiting for Justin at the chalet for more than an hour. At first, he thought that the blond had lost track of time and was probably admiring the valley somewhere, but when he first tried to reach him, Justin didn’t answer his phone. In any other circumstances, Brian wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but he’s learned to trust his instincts in the last few years. And he has a feeling Justin wouldn’t ignore him after what happened the previous night, when Brian shared his fears about something terrible happening to the people he cares for. 

So, here he is, pacing across the porch, waiting for Connor and Gabriel to arrive while calling Justin's phone one more time, without success. When he hears Gabriel’s car turn into his driveway, Brian immediately walks toward the back of the chalet and heads for the pickup.

“Hey,” Gabriel nods at him as soon as he gets out of the car. “No word from Justin yet?”

“No. I tried to call him on his cell at least a dozen times, but he isn’t responding.” Brian curtly replies, directing his gaze at Connor. “He was fine when you saw him, right?”

“He was,” Connor confirms, slamming the pickup door shut. 

“What do you want us to do?” Gabriel asks. 

“Can you take the pickup and drive toward the woods to check for his car?” Brian inquires. “I’ll take the Harley down the road leading to the Point.” 

“Sure,” Gabriel agrees. “It’s probably safer that you don’t navigate through the woods anyway. The dirt roads are dry, but they’re still quite risky for a motorcycle, what with all the potholes.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Connor interjects, although Brian notices his tone lacks the usual sarcasm.

“I’m not taking any chances. He was supposed to be here over an hour ago.” he retorts.

“Okay!” Connor raises his hands in feigned defense, before sliding into the Jeep. “Let’s go in search of the wandering artist.” 

Gabriel nods at Brian. “I’ll call you if we find his car.”

“You do that,” Brian responds, as he walks to the carport, hastily putting on his helmet and climbing onto his Harley.

Ten minutes later, Brian is slowly driving to the Point, checking the edges of the road, trying to discern any trace of Justin’s rental. Deciding to pull over to check his phone, his heart skips a beat when he notices two recent, missed calls from Gabriel. Just as he is about to call him back, his phone rings.

“Anything?” he asks sharply as he picks up. Listening to his friend’s answer, he feels his blood run cold. “I’m on my way,” he gasps, immediately disconnecting the call and placing his phone back in his inner pocket, before putting the motorcycle in motion.

He reaches the usually deserted path leading to the small viewpoint nearest his chalet a couple of minutes later. Struggling to breathe as he turns off the Harley, Brian stares at the banged-up rental on the edge of the path, and keeps repeating to himself that Justin is alright. 

“Justin!” He exclaims, rushing to the car. The vehicle obviously rolled over a couple of times, before hitting a pine tree. The driver’s door is totally crumpled, but Connor and Gabriel have forced it open, probably when they noticed Justin trapped inside. The painter is now kneeling on the ground, quietly addressing the blond still sitting behind the wheel. 

“...good,” Connor is talking in a surprisingly gentle tone. “You must have blacked out for a while, but you seem fine.” He gazes up at Brian and gives him a small nod of reassurance, moving to let the man kneel by his side.

“You hit your head?” Brian surmises as he discovers dried blood on Justin’s face. Turning to look at Connor, he demands, “What the fuck happened?”

“Brian…” Justin whispers when he sees the brunet. Brian hopes Connor and Gabriel don’t notice Justin’s slip, although he doesn’t care at the moment. 

“He hit a deer,” Gabriel discloses. He’s on the phone a couple of feet away, calling for an ambulance, and resumes speaking to the 9-1-1 dispatcher.

“Are you alright?” Brian asks, carefully touching Justin’s head.

“I’m fine… kind of numb,” Justin complains as he straightens in his seat, Brian reaching out to help him. “I hit my head, I think, and my seatbelt… my seatbelt was stuck, and with the airbag and the door... I couldn’t move. And I can’t find my phone. It must have flown somewhere when I crashed.”

“Yes, the door was dented and very hard to open. Plus, we had to cut the seatbelt and deactivate the airbag. It’s a good thing Gabriel had a knife in the pickup.” Connor confirms, before smiling at Justin. “But since you remember your name, what day it is, where you are, and don’t feel like screaming from the pain, I think it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much okay. Plus, the fact that you remember me means you’re definitely sane.”

Justin chuckles, although he grimaces, too. “Stop making me laugh. It hurts.”

“You fucking scared me,” Brian breathes out, interrupting their exchange. Eying the dried blood on Justin’s face, he inquires as he touches the blond’s ribs and notices him wincing, “Are you sure you’re alright, though?”

“Here, move your legs over here,” Connor encourages. Justin shifts his legs, still sitting on the seat, while Brian moves to let him place his feet on the ground. “Look at my fingers. How many do you see?”

“Three,” Justin answers.

“And now?” Connor pushes.

“Still three.” Justin blinks.

“Good,” Brian praises before specifying, “but we’re going to the clinic to have your head examined. Your ribs too. And to check for any internal injuries.”

Justin looks up at him, understanding Brian needs to make sure he’s alright. “Okay.”

“Do you think you have any broken bones? Feel dizzy at all?” Brian persists.

“I don’t think so,” Justin answers, reaching for Brian’s hand and placing it on his lap, interlacing their fingers.

“I already palpated his body to check for injuries. Except for the bump on his head and the tenderness around his ribs, he seems to be fine. His body is still hard and firm.” Connor concludes playfully. When Brian glares, he adds, smirking, “What? It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And don’t worry, using the word ‘hard’ as a qualification doesn’t mean that I checked his dick. I’m not a pervert, just an irresistible dickhead.”

Brian rolls his eyes. 

“The ambulance should be here in a few minutes.” Gabriel announces as he joins them. 

“Okay,” Brian hoarsely responds, feeling his heart thump in his chest. He caresses Justin’s hand, not giving a damn about acting so protective in front of Connor and Gabriel. Connor looks at him penetratingly, though, prompting him to snarl, “What?”

“You’re acting like a man in love. It’s sweet,” Connor articulates, grinning.

“Says the man who has been helplessly in love with the same man for the past twenty years,” Brian mutters, although he doesn’t say it loud enough for Gabriel to hear him, the gallery owner having walked back to his car.

“I’m not surprised you two have fucked,” Justin interjects in a jesting tone, surprising Brian. He never hid his relationship with the painter, but hasn’t yet disclosed to Justin that Connor has been his fuckbuddy for the past few months. 

“You mean, we’re both irresistible dickheads?” Connor quips. Brian glares at him, understanding the painter is the one who told Justin about them fucking.

“I should have known you’d gossip all around town about having great sex with me,” Brian counters, deciding to let it go. Truthfully, he is relieved that Justin doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re quite confident about your skills,” Connor teases back. “It’s not like our fucking sessions were a secret, anyway. Or that we would keep on sleeping together. And really, Justin, it should tell you something about how desperate I really was.”

“Fuck you!” Brian punches Connor’s shoulder, while Justin laughs and ends up coughing. “Easy,” he immediately advises in a gentle voice, caressing the blond’s back.

“You wouldn’t have fucked me if you had any other option?” Connor asks with false incredulity. 

“That’s beside the point,” Brian replies, making sure Justin is alright. Addressing Connor, he asserts, “You like me. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You’re a decent guy,” Connor concedes, standing up as they hear a siren in the distance.

“And you’re annoying as shit.” Brian retorts, although he gives the painter a small smile.

“They’ll be here any minute,” Gabriel announces as he comes back with a blanket and gives it to Brian. The brunet immediately drapes it around Justin’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” Justin wraps the blanket more tightly around himself and looks up at Gabriel and Connor, repeating, “Really, thank you. I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

“Well, now that you mention it...” Connor begins, but Gabriel promptly elbows him in the ribs.

“We had nothing planned,” he claims with a smile.

Connor narrows his eyes at Gabriel, before refocusing his stare on Justin. “You did ruin Gabriel’s attempt to cook a decent dinner.” he contradicts, laughter bubbling from his chest when Gabriel playfully pushes him away.

“The evening is still young, guys,” Brian intervenes, noticing Justin seems pleased with Connor’s surprisingly relaxed behavior toward Gabriel. 

As both his friends move a few feet away, Brian gazes at Justin’s face, carefully touching the bump on his head. 

“I’m fine, B… Liam.” Justin reassures him.

“Let the doctor be the judge of that, okay?” Brian softly replies. “If anything happens to you…”

“Hey,” Justin asserts, covering the brunet’s hand with his own. “I’m fine.”

Brian doesn’t respond and rests his forehead on Justin’s lap, waiting for the ambulance, focusing on the blond’s hand softly caressing the back of his neck.

***

**_Twenty minutes later_ **

After the ambulance arrived, Gabriel and Connor drove back to the apartment above the gallery, neither man saying much. The painter could feel Gabriel was nervous, even though the man hid his anxiety pretty well.

“You hungry?” Gabriel inquires as he enters his place, heading straight to the stove to turn on the burners and reheat their meal.

“Hungry?” Connor repeats distractedly, his gaze sweeping around the living room. “Not really.”

Gabriel begins to stir the vegetables. “You were amazing with Justin.”

“I can act like a decent human being once in a while.” Connor responds with a shrug. 

“You like Justin.” Gabriel counters, glancing at the brunet emphatically.

“I do,” Connor surprisingly answers, purposely ignoring Gabriel’s gaze as he picks up a flyer about the gallery from the coffee table, before letting it drop.

Gabriel redirects his gaze to the pan. Connor looks at him and furtively questions why he’s here, since he already knows that this - whatever they have - won’t last. 

He remembers the day he realized he was in love with his childhood friend. He was a thirteen-year-old kid who had been beaten up by Kevin Bowen, one of his classmates - a bully who usually went after younger, smaller kids. The attack happened while Gabriel was home, sick - Kevin having assaulted Connor on his way home from school with the help of three of his acolytes. Although Kevin had never bullied Connor, the brunet kept humiliating the nitwit at school, ensuring everyone knew that he was a knucklehead. Once, he’d even convinced Kevin to lower his jeans in the middle of the cafeteria, claiming that a black widow had crawled up his pant leg and was about to bite him, which would cause his dick to drop off. Another time, he’d persuaded Kevin to drink toilet water to get rid of an imaginary tapeworm - it really was the only way - and had gestured to all the students walking by to enter the bathroom while Kevin had his head in the toilet bowl. 

Connor’s always had a big mouth.

But in that instance, his unique sense of humor sent him to the hospital, Kevin having beaten the shit out of him. When Gabriel discovered how severely injured Connor had been, he chased the boy down. Connor isn’t sure what happened between the two of them, but he knows one thing. Kevin never bullied anyone again. He even apologized to Connor and turned himself around.

That’s when Connor realized Gabriel wasn't just a friend, twenty years ago.

Gabriel has hurt him so much in the past, but Connor believes he’s sincere today. If the gallery owner hadn’t waited fifteen years to tell him he loved him, everything could have been different between them. It’s too late now, although Connor isn’t strong enough to deny them one night together. He refuses to think past that moment.

Inhaling deeply, Connor moves toward Gabriel and stops behind him. He touches his arm, the blond pretending to ignore him as he keeps stirring the vegetables cooking in the pan. 

“Forget the food and come with me,” Connor demands as he leans closer and breathes against the side of his neck, grabbing his hand. Gabriel peers back at him questioningly, but Connor simply leans forward, turning off the burners.

“What do you have in mind?” Gabriel inquires as he lets Connor guide them toward his bedroom. 

“I have plenty in mind,” Connor responds as they enter the room. There, he lets go of Gabriel’s hand and begins to divest himself of his clothes.

Gabriel stands still, seemingly frozen in place while Connor stares at him unflinchingly. He takes off his shoes, then his shirt, and carelessly drops them to the floor. He is beautiful, although a little skinny, and knows the effect he has on men. Gabriel has trouble keeping his gaze on him, probably made a little uncomfortable by Connor’s bold move, but at the same time, he doesn’t look away. The brunet opens his pants and lowers them along with his boxers. He stands still, completely naked, his face expressionless, as Gabriel steps closer to him, their eyes affixed to one another.

Gabriel’s finger slides down Connor’s chest. Connor’s breathing catches in his throat at the gesture, even more so when Gabriel doesn’t stop and moves to his thigh, before placing the palm of his hand on his hip and inducing the painter to kiss him. 

Connor forgets everything else, focusing on the feeling of Gabriel’s lips, his hands. He starts undressing him. 

A moment later, he finally feels Gabriel’s skin underneath his fingers. They’re still kissing, barely taking the time to breathe. Connor maneuvers Gabriel so the man falls backward onto the bed, the painter immediately lying on top of him. At that point, the blond only has his underwear on, and Connor pushes them down as he starts exploring Gabriel’s neck, his shoulder, his arm, the side of his chest. His lips roam over the skin, so soft and warm, shivering under his touch. He wants this man so badly. Make him come, feel his desire, mark him by giving him more pleasure than any woman ever has.

“Connor, I… We should...” Gabriel rasps out when Connor, unable to restrain his need to make Gabriel his in every way, grazes his dick with his mouth, barely touching it. 

The blond probably wants to talk about what they’re doing, but the painter doesn't want to wait any longer, so he starts lapping at the head of his cock. He inhales as he does, Gabriel’s scent sending a shot of arousal down his spine and into his balls.  

“Ohh…” Gabriel groans as Connor, urged on by his own desire, hums around the head before slowly moving his lips down.

He marvels at the feeling of the blond’s shaft progressing into his mouth then withdrawing. Gabriel lets out a high-pitched groan, causing Connor to suck harder because he wants to hear the blond moan like that again. 

“Ahhh…” Gabriel cries out, propelling his hips upward. 

Connor uses all the tricks he knows to pleasure the blond, alternating between hard and soft touches, swirling his tongue, lapping, devouring - driving the man wild. 

“Connor…” Gabriel calls out, yanking on his lover’s hair to slow him down. Connor ignores him and encircles the blond’s cock with his hand to jerk him off, prompting his lover to surrender to his ministrations as he begins to fuck his mouth. Soon, Gabriel is chanting, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” his voice tinged with a desperate edge.

A few seconds later, his orgasm pours out of him and into Connor’s mouth, Gabriel’s shouts of pleasure resonating in the bedroom. The painter is really turned on by the blond’s response to his blowjob, but even more so, he’s astounded that this is really happening, that Gabriel is with him, experiencing sex with a man for the first time in his life and behaving like he’s never wanted anything more.

The blond’s breathing is ragged, his body covered in sweat. When he opens his eyes, he stares at the ceiling in wonder, and breathes out, “Wow. Gay sex is so good.” He finally peers down at Connor, who is staring back at him, propped on his elbows with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You’re aware that being blown can happen with either a man or a woman,” Connor deadpans, caressing Gabriel’s thigh. 

“I’m sure you will be pleased to know no woman has ever blown me like you just did.” Gabriel vows as he props himself up on his elbows too, facing Connor. 

“Women are boring,” Connor asserts.

“Hmm…” Gabriel half nods, half laughs, pushing Connor onto his back and rolling on top of him. “You’re really hard.”

“Such a perceptive man,” Connor articulates, pushing his hard-on more against Gabriel. “You plan to do something about it?”

Gabriel doesn’t respond. Instead, he lowers his head and crawls down Connor’s body. The painter frowns, surprised by Gabriel’s move, and waits. 

“I want to…” Gabriel hesitates, “blow you. I’m just not sure how I-”

“You’ll do fine,” Connor reassures him, understanding Gabriel is nervous about not giving him as much pleasure. “Just promise me not to do anything you’re not comfortable with and you will… Ahh,” His voice trails off as Gabriel takes him in his mouth, not waiting for Connor to finish his thought. The brunet smiles, gasping as Gabriel’s tongue traces the side of his shaft. “If you want to play dirty, I think we… we will… I...” 

He gives up on talking when Gabriel starts humming confidently around his cock, forgetting everything but the blond’s mouth on him.

***

They make love for hours. When Connor enters Gabriel for the first time after having preparing him unhurriedly to ensure that the blond’s first experience will be as painless as possible, he almost loses it. He doesn’t trust his voice, and keeps his forehead on his lover's back as he pushes inside him. Being an emotional mess at this point, he wonders if sleeping with Gabriel is a mistake, one he will however never regret. 

Gabriel tenses at the beginning. Connor pauses, his eyes closed, his mouth open as he fights not to plunge forward. The thought that he’s inside Gabriel is almost too much to take. 

Connor focuses on caressing and kissing his lover, merely undulating his hips, until he feels the man starts to push against him. 

Gabriel eventually pulls himself up on his knees, glancing at Connor over his shoulder. While he had a hard time relaxing at first, he is now gasping anytime the brunet comes and goes inside him, urging his lover on. At one point, Connor has to close his eyes, the image of the blond looking at him with such a blissful expression on his face being too much of a turn-on.

Withdrawing, Connor rolls Gabriel onto his back, immediately penetrating him again and leaning down, needing to feel his skin against his own. He keeps moving, until he can’t, the bliss filling his body morphing into an overwhelming urge to let go. Leaning on his hands to support himself, he pauses and stares at Gabriel’s face. 

“I love being inside you,” he says before covering Gabriel’s lips, their smothered cries intensifying when he resumes his thrusts. 

His orgasm nears. He breaks their kiss, gazing at Gabriel, wanting to see every nuance on his face as he guides his lover’s hand up and down his neglected shaft. “That’s it, Gabe.” he whispers with a last squeeze to increase the rapture they’re both feeling, Gabriel’s ass clenching around his cock.

The blond throws his head back with a moan, Connor leaning down to breathe out in his ear, “ You feel… so good.” 

He then starts licking Gabriel’s neck, bending his leg to fuck him deeper. The blond cries out loudly as Connor pounds into him without restraint and falls over the edge, surges of come erupting between them. Feeling Gabriel’s orgasm rhythmically milking his cock, Connor explodes deep inside his lover with a scream and collapses, breathless.

It takes him a few minutes to realize he hasn’t pulled out. Gabriel hasn’t moved either and is still lying under him, absently playing with Connor’s hair while the brunet’s face is buried in his neck.

Connor refuses to move. He never thought that having sex with the man he loves could be so different. And he loves Gabriel, completely. Sometimes, he even thinks it's unhealthy to feel so much. He can’t be with him, however, and pushing him away is going to kill him, but he doesn’t have a choice. So, he eventually pulls out and ties off the condom. When he does, Gabriel opens his eyes. Connor wants to flee when he sees the way Gabriel is looking at him. But before he can do or say anything, the blond kisses him again. Twenty minutes later, Gabriel is pushing into him.

Later that night, Connor waits for Gabriel to fall asleep in his arms before quietly slipping out of the bed and sneaking away. Ten minutes later, he enters his home and trashes his living room. 

When he’s done, he heads for his office and slams the door shut. Retrieving his cell phone from his pocket, he glares at the screen signalling one new message and is very close to throwing the cell violently against the wall. But he doesn’t, going to sit at his desk and turning on the computer instead.

One hour later, he snatches a sheet of paper from the printer, staring between it and the article on display on his computer. He winces and briefly closes his eyes, his inner rage not having diminished. The article he’s holding was written by a Pittsburgh reporter almost eight years ago, and is about a high school student having been bashed at his prom. On the picture illustrating the article, Justin is dancing with his male lover.

The legend says,  _ ‘Justin Taylor and his lover, Brian Kinney.’ _

On the computer screen is another article written six years ago, headed,  _ ‘An advertising executive murdered, shot in an alley’.  _ The picture accompanying the article shows the same man, a handsome guy in his thirties, looking right at the photographer and barely smiling, although it looks like he’s inwardly mocking you.

Connor pinches the bridge of his nose as he recalls the conversation he had with Liam and Justin when the photographer joined them to rescue the blond - and the name Justin used to reassure Liam.

_ “Brian…”  _

“You’re supposed to be fucking dead,” Connor whispers, alone in his studio, his heart thumping. He squints as if in pain and grabs his phone to turn it on, peering once more at the message he received earlier that night.

_ It's been four days. Has Taylor recognized Byron yet? _

Connor stares at the question, not moving for long moments. In the end, he types a two-letter answer and throws his cell back on his desk before leaning down, burying his head in his hands.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Not giving up

**_Lakevallée’s clinic, Friday, July 24th, 12:10 a.m._ **

“So... Mr. Taylor,” The doctor on duty - a young redhead whose tag says Dr. Hartmann - looks up after perusing the file one last time.

Justin is lying on the bed in a hospital gown, with Brian standing next to him, waiting for the diagnosis. They already know Justin didn’t suffer any serious injuries in the car accident but have been waiting for confirmation from the doctor.

Dr. Hartmann places the file back into the slot at the foot of the mattress. “We will keep you under observation for the night; if your vitals are still okay in the morning, you will be free to go.”

“I feel fine,” Justin stubbornly argues, annoyed with the whole situation. He doesn’t dare dismiss the doctor’s recommendation, though, sensing that Brian would have a fit if he did. The brunet has been on edge ever since he joined him at scene of the accident.

“Is it safe?” Brian ignores Justin’s statement. “He hit his head and blacked out. Are you sure he doesn’t have an undetectable head trauma or something?”

Dr Hartmann shakes his head. “The scan didn’t show anything. There are no internal injuries, no broken bones, although the hematomas around his ribs will take a few days to ease.” Directing his gaze at Justin, he adds, “Considering your previous brain injury and your current concussion, you may suffer from headaches in the next few days, but they shouldn’t last. I will prescribe medication, just in case.”

Brian is about to protest, but Justin cuts him off, grabbing his hand to capture his attention, “Don’t. I’m fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Brian counters, giving Justin a sharp look.

“In fact, he  _ is _ fine,” Dr. Hartmann interjects, a hint of irritation tinging his voice. 

Brian glares at the doctor but keeps his mouth shut when Justin tugs on his hand to prevent him from voicing his disapproval.

“You can come back tomorrow morning, Mr…” Dr. Hartmann’s voice trails off.

“Byron,” Brian provides, narrowing his eyes at the doc. “And that’s out of the question.”

“You’re not supposed to stay the night. We have a team who will take good care of Mr. Taylor.” Dr Hartmann objects when, from the tone of Brian’s voice alone, he understands the brunet has no intention of leaving his patient’s side.

“I don’t care if your medical team is the best in the whole country,” Brian steps closer to the man, enunciating, “I am not leaving.” 

“Maybe you should…” Justin interjects, but he stops when he sees the murderous glare Brian throws at him.

Returning his attention to the doctor, Brian declares, gesturing to the nearby chair, “I’m not asking for anything. You won’t even notice that I’m here.”

The doctor chuckles dryly at Brian’s announcement, claiming, “Somehow, I doubt that.” He stares at the brunet for a few more seconds before relenting, “I will ask the nurse to bring you an extra pillow and a blanket.”

Brian raises his eyebrow, watching as the man heads to the door. “Thanks,” he eventually says, the young redhead ignoring him and exiting the room.

“You really should go home and sleep,” Justin declares as soon as they’re alone.

“Watch me,” Brian snaps, sitting on the edge on the bed. “What the fuck don’t you understand when I say I’m not going anywhere?”

Justin sighs, straightening up to look at the brunet, while Brian tentatively touches his forehead, tracing the bump with his finger. “You barely slept last night, and you heard the doctor. I’m okay.”

Brian eyes the injury as he climbs onto the bed. “Move,” he demands, disregarding the blond’s statement.

Justin frowns but does as he’s asked. He nonetheless insists, “You look like a train ran over you. You need to rest, not babysit me.” 

Brian ignores his warning and settles in next to him. Lying on his side, he places his head on Justin’s shoulder and his arm across his stomach. He covers Justin’s hand and slowly interlaces their fingers, moving his thumb over the skin. “See? I’m resting.” he eventually offers, his breath tickling the side of Justin’s neck when he glances at the blond.

Justin’s lips curl upward. “You’d be more comfortable in a real bed.”

“I’m in a real bed,” Brian contradicts, pressing himself against Justin’s body. “And I can’t leave. I...” He pauses, placing a small, heartfelt kiss on the side of the blond’s neck, before resting his head in the crook of his neck without finishing his thought.

Justin responds by squeezing Brian’s hand harder, giving up the fight as he realizes that his companion needs him more than he lets on. He therefore tilts his head and begins to softly slide his fingers through his hair in a reassuring manner.

Soon, Brian’s breathing evens out. When the nurse comes with an extra pillow and a blanket a few minutes later, Justin asks her to place the cover on Brian, fearing to wake his lover up if he moves.

“Dr. Hartmann complained that he wouldn’t leave your side.” the nurse informs Justin quietly as she agrees to the blond’s request. Indicating Brian with a small nod, she whispers, “He cares about you a great deal, doesn’t he?”

Justin gazes down at the brunet, a sudden surge of love overwhelming him. He murmurs, “You have no idea.” his eyes lingering on the mop of dark hair long after the nurse leaves the room.

***

**_Friday morning, 7:50 a.m._ **

Gabriel opens his eyes, trying for a few seconds to remember where he is and what he did before falling asleep. As his evening with Connor resurfaces, he smiles and reaches out to the spot next to him, frowning when he feels the cold sheets under his fingers. Straightening up on his elbows, he listens for any sound coming from the apartment but hears nothing. 

He stands up, snatching a pair of jeans from the floor. “Connor?” he tentatively calls as he walks into the living room, sliding a wife-beater on. “Shit,” he curses when he realizes his lover is nowhere to be seen.

Grabbing his cell phone, he dials Connor’s number, ending up with voicemail. He does it again, not caring that the man could still be asleep. He doesn’t understand why Connor would have left without bothering to wake him up or leave a note. 

“Answer your fucking phone,” he grouses as he reaches Connor’s voicemail for the third time, before disconnecting the phone. Frustrated, he heads to the bathroom and turns on the shower, hoping the hot water will help him cool off.

Twenty-five minutes later, he’s dressed. He doesn’t bother with breakfast, since he’s too pissed off to eat anything. He nonetheless drinks some grapefruit juice directly from the carton, before placing it back in his fridge and striding out of the apartment.

He gets into the pickup and throws his briefcase on the passenger seat. He shouldn’t confront Connor now, but he will go crazy if he doesn’t get rid of this negative emotion. So, refusing to think about it any further, he drives to Connor’s house, noticing the Mustang as soon as he arrives. He doesn't know how it makes him feel exactly, kind of mad or afraid. Probably both.

Hastily sliding out of the car, he walks to the front door and knocks, loudly. “Connor!” he shouts when no one answers, hammering on the door some more. “I know you’re in there! Connor!”

He keeps banging on the door. He’s considering hitting it with his foot when it finally opens. “Fucking hold your horses!” Connor snarls, looking fairly pissed. In fact, he looks like hell. His curly hair is in disarray; he’s pale, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and has obviously barely rested, if he’s slept at all.

Gabriel shakes his head, gazing up and down. “What happened to you?”

“I was trying to sleep, but a nutcase kept attempting to force their way into my house,” Connor intones curtly before looking at Gabriel contemptuously. “What do you want?”

“What do I…” Gabriel echoes, astonished by Connor’s tone. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hisses.

Connor merely raises his eyebrows at him in response, his hand resting on the doorframe.

“We had sex,” Gabriel reminds him sardonically.

“I was there,” Connor deadpans, feigning to be bored with the whole conversation.

At first, his cold demeanor feels like a slap to Gabriel’s face, but the gallery owner forces himself to breathe, refusing to take the bait. He doesn’t know why Connor is pretending that what happened between them is unimportant, but he sure as hell isn’t going to fall for it.

“You can pretend all you want that you don’t care, but I know it’s not true.” Gabriel states, forcing the door open.

Connor dryly chuckles, preventing Gabriel from entering his home. “You can believe whatever you want.”

Gabriel ignores Connor’s declaration as he notices the disarray in his living room. “What the…”

“Gabriel,” Connor interrupts him, ready to close the door in his face. “I’m not sure what you expect, but I can tell you what  _ I _ expect. And that would start with you ceasing to harass me.”

Gabriel immediately refocuses his gaze on Connor. “Oh, no you don’t.” he grouses, forcing Connor to step back. Once inside, he slams the door shut with his foot and pushes Connor backward, warning in a deadly voice. “I know you’ve always been an annoying dickhead whose purpose in life was to piss everyone off, but you’re not using that trick with me.”

“Or what?” Connor retorts childishly, straightening himself up to confront his lover, their faces only a few inches apart.

However, Gabriel notices for the first time that the man is on the edge of crying. His previous anger vanishing, Gabriel’s eyes soften as he replies, “You need to tell me why you’re trying so hard to keep me out of your life.”

“What?” Connor’s eyes widen at Gabriel’s demand.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Gabriel questions, raising his hand to touch the brunet’s bruised skin. “Ever since I came back to Lakevallée, you’ve been avoiding me. At first I thought it was because you were angry with me, but that’s not the reason, is it?”

“Don’t,” Connor escapes Gabriel’s touch. “And stop seeing conspiracies when there are none. We’re not meant to be. We never were. Sure, I’ve always wanted to fuck you, and last night was great, but it wasn’t meant to be more than what it was.”

“A fuck?” Gabriel surmises dubiously. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.” Connor retorts.

Gabriel sighs, understanding this conversation is going nowhere. If Connor doesn’t want to open up to him, he isn’t sure what he can do. Staring at the living room, Gabriel decides to stop fighting for now and inquires instead on a hunch, “Why did you trash your living room?” 

Connor, looking exactly like the ostracized kid he once was, briefly glances away, before staring at the blond.

Gabriel holds his gaze for long seconds, wanting nothing more than to take the brunet in his arms and tell him that everything is going to be okay. But he can’t do that, not when he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to what is happening in the painter’s life. He knows several things, though: Connor is miserable right now; someone has hit him; and he’s pushing Gabriel away. Why? Gabriel doesn’t doubt that Connor truly loves him; thus, for what reason would he shut him out if not to protect him? But, from what?

Connor refuses to meet his gaze, and Gabriel feels an irresistible urge to touch him. So, he leans in, not allowing Connor any time to protest before taking him in his arms. When he feels Connor stop resisting and hug him back hard enough to hurt, he covers his lips. 

As the blond leans back a moment later, he utters, “I’m not giving up on you.” before taking a step back and opening the door.

He walks out with one last glance at the brunet, and heads back to his car.

***

**_Liam’s chalet, a few hours later…_ **

“Careful,” Brian warns as he helps Justin into his bed, immediately fluffing the pillow to help him get comfortable.

“Seriously, I’m okay. You don’t need to mother hen me like you do.”

“I don’t mother hen you.” Brian refutes, before adding sardonically, “And excuse me for caring about your well-being.” 

“You’re worse than my mother,” Justin scolds him. 

Brian shakes his head. It’s true he’s been hovering over Justin ever since he woke up this morning, helping him with the doctor and his release, taking care of the damaged rental, bringing Justin back to the chalet, cooking a decent meal, and basically acting like a real knight in shining armor. But he’s been so shaken by Justin’s accident that he can’t restrain himself. “And you should really learn to say thank you and stop complaining like a fifteen-year-old,” Brian retorts as he sits on the bed, covering the blond with a clean sheet. 

“Brian…” Justin ignores his snarky comment and calls his name, making Brian’s heart skip a beat. It’s been such a long time since anyone has called him by that name. He isn’t sure how it makes him feel. “You need to stop worrying about me. I’m okay. It was a stupid accident.”

“It could have been a lot worse,” Brian contradicts, his voice turning somewhat rough. “You could have been seriously hurt and I...” he tries to explain but can’t think of a coherent thing to say. At the moment, he has trouble even looking at Justin for some reason.

Ever since Justin discovered who Liam is, Brian hasn’t known how to act anymore. He isn’t sure where he stands with his former lover. He should do all he can to ensure Justin will leave and move on with his life as soon as possible, but the mere thought of that happening is tearing him apart, even more so since the accident occurred. And yet, if he feels this way when Justin has been lucky enough not to suffer any serious injuries, he can’t imagine how he would feel if anything happened to the blond because of him. 

That’s why Justin needs to leave Lakevallée and never come back. But how the fuck is  _ he _ going to survive that?

“Look at me,” Justin suddenly demands, jolting Brian from his musings, the brunet frowning as he hears the blond’s tone. “It was an accident. A random accident, which has nothing to do with the psycho who’s after you. You’re not responsible for this, do you understand me?”

Brian nods, amazed at Justin’s perceptiveness. “I know.”

“Do you?” Justin skeptically asks, narrowing his eyes at the brunet.

“I do. It’s just… I’m not sure how to deal with… everything, really.” Brian admits, peering at Justin. “You weren’t ever supposed to come to Lakevallée, much less recognize me, and yet, here we are. With you, hurt in my bed.”

Justin snorts. “I’ve always managed to end up in your bed.”

Brian chuckles dryly. “That you have.”

“Listen, can we… can we just rest and… forget about that stupid accident?” Justin asks. Sensing Brian’s reluctance, he urges, “For one night… Please…”

“Okay,” Brian agrees, intending to get up from the bed to go sleep on the couch, but Justin prevents him from moving by grabbing his forearm. Brian peers down at his hand before looking up at Justin. “What?”

“Could you stay with me tonight?” Justin inquires almost bashfully. “Could you… hold me?”

Brian feels his heart beating faster as he notices the blond’s pleading eyes. He should probably refuse, but he doesn’t want to. “Sure,” he breathes out, taking off his glasses after a slight hesitation and putting them on the nightstand. Getting up, he comes back a few seconds later with the necessary items for his contact lenses. Glancing at Justin, he carefully removes and places them in the receptacle, blinking a few times. When he looks up, Justin leans closer to touch his face and stares into hazel eyes.

Justin swallows, and they stay silent for a moment. Brian eventually closes his eyes and places a chaste, but heartfelt kiss on Justin’s lips. He undresses, keeping his underwear and shirt on, before moving to lie down behind Justin. He spoons him, encircling his waist and burying his face in the crook of his neck, while Justin immediately grabs his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Brian utters, his breath tickling Justin’s skin as the blond squeezes their joined hands to his chest. 

The brunet feels Justin slightly shiver in his arms.

***

**_A couple of hours later…_ **

Justin is jolted awake by an awful scream, one that instantly chills his bones. At first, he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he realizes Brian is thrashing around next to him.

“Brian… Brian!” he yells, trying to awaken him, pinning his hands to the bed and ignoring the throbbing in his ribs at the sudden move. Brian fights him, not leaving Justin any choice but to shout louder, “Wake up! It’s just a dream! You have to wake up!” When that doesn’t work, he grips his shoulders and starts to shake him.

Brian suddenly pushes him away, bolting upright. Justin barely prevents himself from falling off the bed, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs as he scoots closer. But Brian jumps when he tentatively touches his arm. 

“Brian, it’s me,” Justin reassures him, bending over to turn on the light. When he sees Brian’s face, he almost shrinks away.

Brian averts his gaze and stands up, heading for the bathroom. Justin hears him turn on the faucet. Hesitating, he gets up and walks after him, stopping in the doorway to the bathroom. Brian is gazing down at the water running into the sink, his hands braced on its edges.

Justin approaches and turns off the tap, still staring at Brian, who finally peers up at him. His face is expressionless, and yet, he looks terrible.

“What happened?” Justin can’t help but ask. This is a side of Brian he’s never seen before.

“Nothing,” Brian dismisses his question, striding out of the bathroom and leaving Justin standing there, dumbfounded.

Frowning, Justin watches him head toward the living room and decides to follow him. When he reaches the kitchen Brian is standing by the counter, pouring himself a glass of Beam.

“You still love Beam,” Justin comments, not sure what to do or say. 

“One of the few things they didn’t take away from me.” Brian replies sarcastically, gulping his drink in one go.

Justin hates seeing Brian like this. He has a feeling this isn’t the first time the brunet has had to deal with nightmares, and he hates knowing he usually goes through this alone. 

He ponders his options briefly, before deciding that he can’t ignore what has just happened and declaring bluntly, “You screamed.”

Brian stills with the bottle of Beam in his hands, before serving himself another glass and ignoring Justin’s statement.

“It was the scream of a terrified man, Brian,” Justin pushes, walking closer to the brunet and hoping he will open up to him. “Talk to me.”

Brian glances at him as he drinks his Beam, before setting it down on the counter. “It was a nightmare. Nothing more.” He tries to avoid the topic.

“It was more than that,” Justin contradicts, touching Brian’s arm, hoping that he will hear him out. “For how long have you suffered nightmares like this?”

Brian smiles at Justin’s question, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Shrugging, he answers, “A few months…”

“Don’t you mean a few years?” Justin counters, sitting on a stool and indicating the one next to him to Brian.

“Does it matter?” Brian argues, but takes a seat nonetheless.

“Yes, it does. It does.” Justin insists, bringing his stool closer to Brian’s. “What was it about?”

“Huh?” Brian frowns.

“The nightmare.” Justin clarifies. “Why did you scream?”

“Justin…” Brian stalls, hesitant about opening up.

“Brian, please. I’m worried about you.” Justin implores.

“You shouldn’t be.” Brian objects, but he doesn’t stand up either, which he would have already done if he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

Emboldened, Justin responds, hoping to break through the last bit of resistance emanating from the brunet. “But I am.”

Brian stares at him, probably questioning the wisdom of sharing one of the most intimate parts of his life. 

“Just spit it out,” Justin demands. “I can take it. And you need to talk. You’re lucky, I’m a good listener.”

“I know,” Brian offers, his lips curling slightly upward.

“So what are you waiting for?” Justin pushes with a small smile.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Brian resists.

“And you didn't ask for those nightmares. You didn’t ask for any of this,” Justin intones, gesturing around the chalet. “I know you can’t confide in anyone in Lakevallée, but the nightmares obviously shake you and I’m right here. You don’t need to deal with everything on your own, and no one will get hurt if you accept my help. So, let me help you, please…” Justin is literally begging now, but he doesn't care as long as it works.

And it does. Justin can see how hard it is for Brian to let go, and yet, at last, the brunet discloses, “I’m in my bedroom in the chalet. I can’t sleep. And I start hearing voices from my past…”

Justin raises his eyebrows, curious who Brian is referring to.

Brian clears his throat, divulging, “Michael, Ted, and Emmett.”

“You hear them in your dreams?” Justin interrogates quizzically.

“In this one, yes.” Brian confirms without thinking.

“You mean, you have recurrent nightmares,” Justin surmises, mostly talking to himself and not realizing he has shared his conclusion out loud until he sees Brian’s troubled gaze.

The brunet ignores him and continues describing his dream, “I don’t know why, but I somehow wake up in my old loft, and I still hear them in the living room, laughing and joking about me and debating about my death. Ted says something about me dying in the middle of an orgy; Emmett talks about my car going over a cliff; then Michael suddenly starts crying and he bawls, literally.”

The brunet pauses and takes a deep breath. He eventually resumes, “And I’m there, in the next room, and I want to tell them that I’m alive, but  anytime I try to get up, someone - or something - keeps me from moving or saying anything. I don’t know how, but I realize they’re going to... die if they don’t hear me. So I try to break free again and again, but I just can’t. I don’t know how long I stay like that, before I hear gunshots. In the end, all that remains is the quiet, but…”

“But what? Tell me,” Justin gently encourages when he understands they are about to discuss the hardest part of the dream.

“I can move again.” Brian breathes out. “The next thing I know, I’m standing in the loft’s living room.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see Emmett,” Brian reveals. “He is standing, facing me in the middle of dozens of bloodless bodies I don’t recognize, except for Theodore…” The brunet has to stop at that point. “Fuck, I hate those dreams.”

“Why did you scream?” Justin inquires, understanding that Brian hasn’t finished.

“I must zone out, because the bodies disappear. That’s when the blood appears. It covers the entire floor, even the walls. I’m bleeding of course, I’ve been shot too, although I don’t remember when. But Emmett stares at me and he says, ‘ _ He’s not here, Brian, _ ’ before turning away from me and walking away, although it looks like he’s floating.” Brian discloses. “That’s when I see the... hole in the back of his head. That’s when I understand the floor is covered in our blood.”

“Jesus Christ…” Justin curses, horrified by his companion’s dream. 

“You wanted to know,” Brian half mocks, although Justin can sense his turmoil. 

“You already had this dream,” Justin half questions, half states, needing Brian to confirm his assumption.

“Yeah.” Brian nods, albeit reluctantly. “Although it’s been a while since I dreamed about Emmett.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone about those nightmares?” Justin asks, assuming that this isn’t the only nightmare Brian has had to deal with. 

Brian chuckles wryly. “You know I haven’t.”

“So, you just… deal with them on your own?” Justin deduces.

“Well, I could use a shrink to deal with the fact that I suffered from a severe trauma after having escaped death with a damaged brain,” Brian retorts cynically. “Too bad I can’t talk to anyone about what happened to me.”

“I’m here… You can talk to me,” Justin contradicts, his heart constricting in his chest. 

Brian shakes his head. “I’m not stupid, Justin. I know why I’m having those dreams. I may not understand exactly what they mean, but I don’t need to be a genius to conclude I have PTSD.”

“And I say it again, you can talk to me. I will listen and I promise to put my personal feelings aside.” Justin proposes, desperate to help. “Just think about it, okay?”

“You’re already here,” Brian offers gently. “It’s more than I’ve had in years.”

Justin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. He stands up and reaches for Brian’s legs, pushing them apart so that he can stand between them. He places his hands on Brian’s shoulders and cups his neck, pulling Brian’s forehead against his. “And I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, convinced that Brian needs to hear he’s not alone, even though Justin knows the brunet will probably try to push him away later.

But for now, they have each other, and while that might not solve anything, Justin wouldn't be anywhere else.

  
  



	14. A souvenir

**_The chalet, Saturday morning, July 25th_ **

Brian wakes up in Justin’s arms. He blinks, trying to recall the previous night, closing his eyes as the memories resurface. After a minute, he peers up at Justin’s face, and carefully disentangles himself from the blond’s embrace. 

He heads for the kitchen and prepares some coffee. He can’t believe he shared his dream with Justin, although his emotions were pretty fucked up when the blond confronted him. He’s more exhausted than he has been in months, and he knows he needs to rest more if he doesn’t want Justin to be even more worried about him than he already is.

A knock distracts him from his thoughts. Frowning, he looks through the window and notices a car he doesn’t recognize parked near the chalet. Quickly going to put in his contacts and don his Aston cap, careful not to wake Justin, he then strides toward the door.

“Jacquie?” he calls out when he discovers Special Agent Bennett standing on the porch. Peering briefly toward his bedroom, he again focuses his gaze on the Afro-American woman and inquires, “What are you doing here?”

“I’d love to tell you I’m just paying you a social visit, but…” Agent Bennett trails off.

“But Allen sent you here to check if I’m behaving like a good little boy,” Brian finishes with a fake smile, opening the door to let her in. 

“Something like that,” Bennett acquiesces. “How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Brian disregards the question, closing the door behind the FBI agent and striding to the kitchen. “Coffee?” he offers as he raises the pot and opens a cabinet to retrieve a mug.

“Sure,” Bennett answers. “Is Justin Taylor here?”

“Yeah.” Brian snorts. He likes Jacquie. She is the kind of woman who always speaks her mind, and Brian knows she and Carl - and even fucking Agent Allen - are doing all they can to bust Malone. 

“You okay?” Bennett questions, accepting the cup of coffee Brian hands her.

“You already asked. My answer hasn’t changed.” Brian retorts sardonically. “How is Horvath?”

“Carl? He’s good, just worried about you.” Bennett informs him. “I’m sorry about your mom, by the way. I know you two weren’t close, but I can’t imagine what her death must feel like for you.”

“It sucks,” Brian confirms wryly. He is about to add some witty remark when he notices that Justin is standing in the hallway, looking at him and Jacquie.

“Hi,” Justin tentatively waves when Bennett turns in his direction. Brian can feel the blond’s tension at discovering a total stranger in the living room.

“Justin, this is Jacquie. She’s an old friend.” Brian introduces her, gesturing toward Agent Bennett. He doesn’t add that she’s FBI, since he still hasn’t decided when to inform Bennett, Allen, and Horvath that Justin knows who he is. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Justin immediately greets her, as he walks over and extends his hand. “I’m Justin.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jacquie counters, accepting the handshake. Then turning toward Brian, she explains, “Liam was just telling me about his mom.”

“His mom?” Justin echoes, and Brian hears a hint of fear in his voice as their eyes lock. The blond obviously doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say in front of Jacquie.

“I told her my mother passed away last week,” Brian clarifies. He figures even as Liam Byron, he could have shared the news of her death, no matter that both Liam’s parents were supposed to have died years ago, since the blond didn’t know that before. Besides, it doesn’t mean Jacquie will figure out that he has confided a lot more in the blond. She probably will think he has been blindsided by the unexpected news of her death and that he needed someone to talk to, which, in fact, is not that far from the truth.

“Yes, of course,” Justin nods a little uncomfortably. But he apparently catches Brian’s intention, since he flashes Jacquie a broad smile, adding, “Sorry, I’m not one hundred percent awake yet.” 

“I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t expect Liam to have a guest, or I wouldn’t have come so early.” Jacquie volunteers apologetically.

“It’s okay. I’m just letting Justin crash here, since the Decunn Hotel didn’t have any rooms available at the end of the week. He was in a car accident a couple of days ago, so he needed a place to rest,” Brian reveals, hoping Jacquie will not ask him too many questions.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you alright?” Jacquie inquires, while gazing at Brian pointedly.

“I am,” Justin reassures her. “It was just a stupid accident, and apart from a couple of bruised ribs and a headache, I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jacquie intones as she places her cup on the kitchen counter, apparently relieved. 

Brian is too, to be honest. If Justin’s injuries had been serious, it could have created a huge mess with the family in Pittsburgh.

“I’m not going to intrude any longer.” Jacquie announces. “Justin, it was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Justin responds, smiling at her.

Jacquie gives him a slight smile, before addressing Brian. “Liam, can you walk me out to my car?”

“Sure,” Brian agrees. He follows Jacquie to the door and out of the chalet.

They head toward Jacquie’s car in silence. Only when they’re at the passenger door does the FBI agent halt and turn to look at Brian. “You look awful.”

“I’ve felt better,” Brian admits with a false smile. “It’s been a stressful week.”

Jacquie sighs. She seems to debate about something for a moment and eventually states, “You told Justin about your mom.”

Brian ignores her statement and just stares into the distance. 

“It’s risky to confide in him.” Jacquie warns. “What if he recognizes you? It could get even more complicated than it already is.”

“I know,” Brian dismisses her concern. “But you can tell Allen not to worry. I’m handling it.”

“Hmm,” Jacquie doesn’t seem convinced, but she lets it go. In fact, she doesn’t add anything more for a minute. Eventually, she reveals, “Horvath went to your mom’s funeral.”

“He did?” Brian answers absently, although his heart is racing.

Jacquie nods. “Debbie Novotny was there.”

Brian snorts. “I bet she was. She probably tried to speak on my behalf.”

Jacquie ignores Brian’s remark and retrieves a photograph from her inner pocket. “Here, Horvath gave me this for you.” 

Brian looks down at the black and white portrait of his mom. She is young in the picture, her natural beauty captured by the photographer. She seems happy - looking at the baby in her arms with a broad smile, as if she’d just burst out laughing. Even her eyes are smiling. 

“You were a beautiful baby,” Jacquie comments as Brian tentatively takes the picture.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t really trust his voice at the moment.

“Your sister was there with her sons. She cried a lot apparently. Her sons, not so much,” Jacquie continues, and Brian is grateful for the distraction.

“It’s reassuring to hear that some things don’t change. Claire’s always been a whiner,” Brian claims, peering at Bennett.

Jacquie looks at him. She seems amused, but also kind of sad. “You take care of yourself,” she demands, “and Justin, too. Be careful, okay?”

Brian smiles, hearing the concern in her voice. For some reason, Bennett has always been very protective of him, even though she didn’t know him when he got shot. Although now, as he looks into her eyes, he suddenly realizes something is off, but the furtive thought disappears as she briefly places her hand on his arm.

“I’m glad you came,” is all he responds with.

Bennett gazes at him for a few more seconds before opening the car door and sliding in. Brian steps back when she puts the car in motion, watching the vehicle move away.

***

**_The Decunn Hotel, same time…_ **

Gabriel walks in, his gaze sweeping around the lobby as he heads to the front desk, carrying a relatively small painting representing the hotel on a misty summer morning. Giving the man standing behind the reception desk a huge smile, he calls out, “Hey, Milton.” 

He’s known Milton since he was a kid, the receptionist having begun working at the Decunn Hotel twenty-five years ago. He and Mary-Elizabeth are close, although to Gabriel’s knowledge, nothing has ever happened between the two of them other than a deep and respectful friendship.

“Mr. Harrington,” Milton greets him warmly. “You’re here to see Mary-Elizabeth, am I correct?” 

“You are,” Gabriel confirms. “She asked me to drop off one of Connor’s paintings that I had stored at the gallery.”

“Miss Decunn is in her office.” Milton informs him. “She’s expecting you.”

Gabriel gives the receptionist a nod of appreciation and walks past the front desk, entering an adjacent room before walking down a short corridor.

A few seconds later, he knocks on Mary-Elizabeth’s office door.

“Come in,” he hears her say, and opens the door.

“Good morning, Mary Elizabeth,” Gabriel intones.

“Gabriel,” Mary-Elizabeth stands up from behind her impressive nineteenth-century desk. “How are you?” she inquires as she goes to hug him.

Gabriel secures the painting against a shelf by the door and accepts her hug, inwardly wincing at her question. He’s been in quite a mood ever since his encounter with Connor the day before. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” he finally responds, leaning back, grabbing the painting, and giving it to her, Mary-Elizabeth moving to place it on her desk. “How are you doing? Still dedicating yourself to the hotel, I presume?”

“You know how it is,” the seventy-year-old woman answers, putting some papers aside. “This hotel is the only thing I know.”

Gabriel nods, standing in front of the desk. “I remember when I moved to Lakevallée as a kid, I loved coming in here.”

Mary-Elizabeth laughs. “You and Connor were always sneaking around together. Connor loved playing pranks on the guests, and you were always the one stopping him from stepping over the line. I guess I should thank you for that.” 

Gabriel’s lips curl upward as he remembers. “I have good memories from that time.”

“Me too,” Mary-Elizabeth agrees. 

Gabriel observes her, noticing the circles under her eyes, her white hair slightly in disarray. She seems to hesitate about something as she purses her mouth, small wrinkles appearing on her tired face. 

The blond has always admired this woman. She raised her son alone, Connor having never known his father. In fact, when Gabriel and Connor met, the brunet claimed that his dad had died in an accident when he was a baby; then, one day while they were sneaking around in the same office Gabriel is in now, they unexpectedly discovered the truth. They heard Mary-Elizabeth and Milton walking down the corridor leading to the office, where they weren’t supposed to be, and hid in the large closet with a giggle, waiting. Mary-Elizabeth walked in with Milton on her heels a few seconds later, the receptionist closing the door behind them. 

“You never saw him again?” Milton said.

“No. Richard was married, Milton.” Mary-Elizabeth answered, before clarifying, “After that summer, he never came back to the hotel. He never met his son.”  

“Why?” Milton inquired. 

“I wrote him a letter in november 1975, four months before Connor’s birth, informing him he was going to be a father,” Mary-Elizabeth disclosed after a long moment. “He responded and said... he didn’t want anything to do with me and my…  _ bastard _ .” She paused, resuming in a stronger voice, “But it doesn’t matter. Richard was in a car crash in 1980. He didn’t make it.”

A deafening silence ensued, Gabriel holding his breath as he felt Connor tense next to him.

“Connor…” Milton breathed out.

“...won’t ever know that his father never wanted him, do you hear me?” Her voice held a colder tone as she said those words. “As far as he is concerned, his father, who loved him more than anything, died when he was a baby. He wasn’t a coward who abandoned his son.”

Gabriel remembers that feeling of helplessness, the haunted look in his friend’s eyes as they eventually left their hiding place long after Mary-Elizabeth and Milton had walked out of the room. That day, Connor ran away from the hotel, and Gabriel spent hours looking for him. What happened after that is foggy, but Gabriel does remember Connor yelling at him. He especially remembers the brunet crying for the first time since they’d met.

As for Mary-Elizabeth, she probably isn’t aware that her son knows the truth about his father. Connor has never mentioned him since that day.

“Gabriel…” Mary-Elizabeth’s voice brings him back from his memories. “I… Have you seen Connor lately? I know the two of you don’t talk much anymore, but-”

“I have,” Gabriel cuts her off. 

Mary-Elizabeth nods, “I… I’m worried about him.”

Gabriel frowns but doesn’t interrupt her.

“You know he’s always been snarky and sullen, but lately he seems… sad,” she breathes out, looking up at Gabriel. “I know the two of you used to be close, when you were younger.”

“I care about your son,” Gabriel volunteers, surprised by how easily the words come out.

Mary-Elizabeth’s eyes soften, as she asks, “Do you care about him as much as he cares about you?”

Gabriel isn’t sure he understands what she’s trying to say. 

Sensing his confusion, Mary-Elizabeth clarifies, “I know my son is gay. And I know he’s been in love with you since the day he met you, even though I doubt he was aware of it at the time.”

“How do you know…” Gabriel trails off.

“I’m his mother.” Mary-Elizabeth states simply. “I know my son. I also know there is nothing I can do to help him since he won’t talk to me. He’s never opened up to anyone but you.”

Gabriel shakes his head, not exactly sure how to respond. “I’m not sure what you expect from me.”

“Just…” Mary-Elizabeth stammers. “He’s been so distant lately. I’ve had some complaints from the guests, not that that’s new, but it’s getting worse. And I know he’s hiding something.”

Gabriel nods but doesn’t reply.

“If you care about him, really care about him, please, help him,” Mary-Elizabeth pleads, moving closer to him and briefly placing her hand on his arm. She looks so small.

Once more that day, Gabriel stays in her office long after she has left the room.

*** 

**_The chalet, a few minutes later_ **

Justin sips his coffee, waiting for Brian to come back, for his heart to stop beating so fast. He doesn’t know who that woman was. Something tells him she was not who she pretended to be, and it makes him even more aware of the danger of the situation both he and Brian are in.

Brian finally returns, not saying a word. Justin observes him as he stands by the door, not really looking at anything in particular, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Justin realizes it’s a photograph, and he frowns, just as Brian gazes at him.

The brunet raises his hand for a second, before letting it fall back down. “A souvenir,” is all he says, as he moves to the counter, approaching Justin. 

Justin hesitates briefly before taking the picture from Brian’s hand. He stares at the image of mother and son for a few seconds, before carefully placing the photograph on the counter. “For such a bitch, she was a beautiful woman.”

Brian snorts, a strange laugh bubbling out of his chest, as he steps closer to take Justin in his arms. Justin lets him, immediately placing his hands on the brunet’s neck. He sighs, and leans in, his forehead resting on Brian’s chin. 

“Jacquie…” he says her name, not adding anything, fearing  Brian will figure out how scared he really is.

“She’s FBI,” Brian confirms his suspicions. “Here to be sure I’m not fucking everything up.”

“What did you tell her?” Justin can’t help but ask. 

“Nothing,” Brian discloses, slowly caressing the blond’s hair.

“This won’t end unless they catch him, will it?” Justin questions.

Brian hugs him harder. 

Justin really doesn’t know how he and Brian are going to get out of this mess, and the more time that passes, the more anxious he feels. The FBI is not getting any closer to catching that fucking son of a bitch who stole a part of Brian’s life. A part of Justin’s life, too, of so many people’s lives. Moreover, the more time Justin spends in Lakevallée, the more they risk being discovered, and the blond doesn’t want to think about what the FBI will do if they find out Justin has recognized his former lover. 

So, it’s really very simple. Nothing will be solved before Malone is behind bars, or better yet as far as Justin is concerned, dead. And time is against them. If Justin wants to keep Brian in his life, he needs to come up with a plan, fast.

But what plan? All Justin knows is that it all started with Jason Kemp. When the blond thinks about it, he can’t help but question why a trafficker in stolen art would murder a sixteen-year-old boy. Because from what Brian has told him, Jason’s murder was premeditated. But why? What did Jason see that could have endangered Malone, to the point where he would seek Stockwell’s help to off him? Jason must have had irrefutable evidence against that psycho to end up dead. Is this just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Did he see something he shouldn’t have? Did he blackmail Malone, and if so, why and how? Or, was he involved in an entirely different way?

Unfortunately, Jason Kemp took the secret to his grave, and the only person Justin knows who was Jason’s friend is Hunter, Michael and Ben’s son. After Brian’s ‘death’, the former hustler accused a police officer of Jason’s murder - Stockwell’s former partner - but that man apparently committed suicide soon after, putting an end to the investigation, and leaving Jason Kemp’s murder officially unsolved. Retrospectively, the former cop’s death was probably another killing. And talking to Hunter after so many years probably wouldn't help. 

And yet, now that the idea has entered his mind, Justin knows it won’t leave him alone. He doubts Brian will let him investigate, though, so it might be better not to say anything.

For now, Justin buries his face in the crook of Brian’s neck, inhaling deeply. He’s missed Brian. He’s not sure he can ever get used to the feeling he experiences anytime he thinks about what he’s gone through without him, and how he feels now that the nightmare of his death is over. His thoughts are all over the place, knowing Brian is suffering from PTSD, that the FBI could separate them, that a psycho could try to kill them both, that he can’t reveal anything to anyone. If he goes to Pittsburgh, he will have to lie. Like Brian has lied for all these years since he woke up. 

But it’s worth it, if it means Brian’s safe.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Justin eventually breathes out. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do, but I don’t want to lose you, ever again. Not when I know exactly what it feels like when you’re gone.”

Brian leans back, forcing Justin to meet his gaze.

Justin can’t take it, so he does the only thing he really wants to do. He grabs the back of Brian’s neck, forcing the man’s lips to his own. He’s not sure how the brunet feels about them reconnecting physically, and he himself doesn’t know if it’s a good idea. But they’ve always understood each other when they touched. It was their way of saying what they couldn’t voice, what their fears and insecurities prevented them from sharing with words. Touching Brian was - _ is  _ \- one of the most intense experiences of Justin’s life. And right now, Justin needs to let those overwhelming feelings out.

Brian’s legs hit the couch, but they don’t stop. They keep kissing. This intimacy reassures them both, as if it can block out everything that threatens to literally fuck them over. In this instant, they don’t care about the world, about what could go wrong. Later, they will. 

But not now.

  
  
  



	15. Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m creating a FB group to interact with the readers. If you’re interested in joining me, contact me via my name, Alois Dfr, or directly in the group « Queer as Folk - Alois fanfiction "

**_The chalet, Saturday afternoon, July 25th_ **

Justin convinced Brian to take a day off, and forced the man to rest. The brunet had been utterly exhausted ever since the night Justin recognized him, and between the accident and his nightmares, the blond fears Brian will crash if he isn’t more careful. Agent Bennett’s visit hasn’t fixed anything, quite the contrary, since they chose to keep quiet about Justin knowing the truth, with all the consequences that could ensue.

It’s already one in the afternoon when Justin steps outside, alone, and watches the sun reflecting on the lake. The contrast between the peaceful view and the chaos of his life is vivid. He feels so small at the moment, so out of control. Regaining control of his life feels nearly impossible, but he needs to try. In a way, it makes Justin’s decision easier, even if Brian mustn’t know what he plans to do.

Retrieving his phone from his jeans - Brian fortunately found it in the rental, miraculously undamaged - he searches for his mother’s number and dials.

“Hey,” he says as soon as Jennifer picks up.

“Justin!” Jennifer exclaims, obviously relieved to hear from her son. “Honey, how are you? I tried to call your cell a couple of times, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Justin reassures her. “Sorry I didn’t ring you sooner. I guess I lost track of time.”

“Hmm,” Jennifer doesn’t seem pleased with his excuse but doesn’t push. “You’re still in…”

“Lakevallée,” Justin supplies. “I was thinking about leaving tomorrow and coming home for a few days.”

“Really?” Jennifer enthuses. “That would be great!”

“I had a feeling you would be pleased,” Justin says, nervously scratching at the wooden boards of the porch with his foot.

“I am,” Jennifer confirms eagerly.

“Mom...” He hesitates, considering revealing he was in a car accident, before deciding against it. If he tells her, she will admonish him and ask him why he didn’t call her sooner. He has no illusion that she wouldn’t have been on the first flight to Lakevallée if she knew her son had been injured. 

“Yes?” Jennifer says, and Justin realizes he zoned out for a moment. He has so many thoughts swirling in his head, so many things he wishes he could confide in her. 

“I will call you as soon as I know when I’ll land, okay?” he finally announces, feeling his throat closing up. He doesn’t want her to guess he’s hiding something from her, but knowing he will soon leave Brian - if only for a short time, he hopes - is so fucking hard.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up at the airport,” Jennifer proposes.

“What about your job?” Justin inquires.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jennifer dismisses the question before asking gently, “You sure you’re okay?”

Justin feels a smile spreading across his face at the concern in her voice. No matter what, he will always be grateful to have a mother who loves him so much. “I am,” he answers. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Okay,” Jennifer agrees, before adding, “I love you, Honey,”

“Love you too,” Justin responds, before disconnecting the call.

***

**_Connor’s house, same time…_ **

Connor is standing in front of a canvas, just staring at the sparkling drops of water he has created, at the darkened sky illuminated by little touches of white. He hates his creation, hates everything about it. He contemplates the can of red paint next to him, seeing himself taking it and splashing it across this abomination. 

His art. He used to like it, once. Not anymore. His art is the reason why it all started, why his life has spiraled so out of control. This fucking gift he inherited even before he was born for some fucked up reason. While some people dream all their lives about having even a smidgen of his talent, Connor would give it up in a heartbeat if he could.

He doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t drawing, or painting. When he was two, his mother gave him his first set of pencils. For Connor, it was the best gift he had ever received. He spent days locked up in his room, drawing on sheet after sheet of paper, using orange, blue, green, yellow, and every other available color. But it wasn’t enough, so he asked Santa if he could have some paints, because he wanted to create colors, lots and lots of colors. Three-year-old Connor didn’t think there were enough colors in the world.

Four-year-old Connor created about five hundred different colors. His favorite was the green. He gave every nuance a name, like spring, lemon, leaf, even asparagus. He loved that word - asparagus - and his color even more.

Eight-year-old Connor was bored with colors since he already understood he was a genius. He was a weirdo, but at least he was smart, and anyway, all geniuses were crazy, right? Other kids were just boring. They spent their days playing silly jokes or trying to please the teacher. Kids were whiny and stupid, boys laughing at girls and girls pretending they were so much better than anyone else. Connor was just happy he wasn’t as uninteresting as they were.

But then, nine-year-old Gabriel showed up and somehow, Connor didn’t find the colors as boring anymore, especially since Gabriel liked them a lot. 

“You need green in that one,” were the first words Gabriel ever said to him.

It was the first day at school, in fourth grade, and Connor was sitting in a far corner of the schoolyard, leaning against a tree. He peered up from his drawing, ready to rip the intruder a new one, but then, he beheld the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. His shaggy hair was the color of gold, but not just some lame gold. It was blazing, vibrant, and his piercing green eyes bored into Connor’s, making the boy want to crawl into his own skin. For the first time ever, Connor’s couldn’t speak, too fascinated by this boy’s beauty. 

“Maybe blue, too.” Gabriel continued, oblivious to Connor’s inner battle with himself to find his voice. The blond gazed around, noticing a few girls laughing as they pointed their fingers at them, and Connor was sure he was going to walk away as soon as he realized he was talking to the social misfit. But Gabriel shrugged and sat next to him, leaning in to point at the drawing. “Here, you need to add more colors. It would be even more beautiful then, don’t you think?”

Connor stared at the boy’s face, taken aback by his nonchalant demeanor, as if conversing with a boy like him wasn’t a major mistake. “I could draw you,” his mouth said while his mind screamed to shut the fuck up already.

Gabriel looked up at him in surprise, and Connor was ready for him to laugh in his face, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled at him, responding, “Sure. That’d be cool.”

And just like that, the world had colors again.

***

Gabriel always marveled at Connor’s talent and started collecting his friend’s work. So, Connor kept drawing and painting, and people kept despising him while they envied his talent.

But what people failed to understand, is that grown-up Connor never felt that passionate about his art. He liked it, like someone likes a hobby, but it didn’t give him the thrill people babble about when they’re passionate about something. But it was easy, so why not? And somehow, it pissed people off even more, knowing he had a gift he didn’t give a shit about, when some people would have killed to have his talent. Since he was a dickhead, it was all the motivation he needed to continue showing off.

Of course, eighteen-year-old Connor also wanted to impress Gabriel, and therefore decided to exhibit his work. All the inhabitants of Lakevallée discovered his talent, and before he knew it, he was the new hot commodity in town. Collectors started asking for his paintings, and with Gabriel gone, Connor kept creating, so that he could enjoy his heartbreak in peace. The good thing about officially becoming the town’s genius, was that no one asked you any questions anymore. They were too busy insisting you were a crazy, asocial, misunderstood asshole.

At the time, Connor was miserable, but he now wants to laugh at the irony of his fate. For someone who had always mocked people for being clueless, he sure has been played masterfully, and the worst part is, he never saw it coming. 

It always comes back to his art. His art, which has been a tool in a psycho’s hands for years now, the reason why he can’t stop. His blackmailer already set fire to Connor’s former studio once, demonstrating how serious the threats were - threatening to take care of Connor’s mother next and torch her along with the hotel if he didn’t obey. 

So, Connor kept painting. And then, three years ago, he was asked to spy on Liam, a photographer who was settling down in town. 

At the time, Gabriel had just come back to Lakevallée, and Connor was having trouble adjusting to his return. Considering the situation he was in, keeping the blond out of his life was the only option, and it wasn’t so hard, since Connor was still angry at his childhood friend for leaving all those years ago without much of a goodbye and never looking back. Besides, when Gabriel returned, he never questioned Connor’s motives for staying away and didn’t try to reinsert himself in the painter’s life, only visiting him once.

And even though it was a good thing since it meant that Connor could keep Gabriel out of his problems, it also hurt like hell, but it wasn’t like he could go to Gabriel and yell at him for being such a coward. 

It took him months to get close to Liam, however. The photographer was so closed off, and Connor had never been known for his social skills. So, the painter concocted a plan. He showed up at the studio every Monday without fail, until Liam caved - probably taking pity on him - and started talking. Not that he said much more than a couple of sentences, but after months of silent treatment, it was a huge win in Connor’s book.

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” Liam said one morning, after Connor had babbled about a guest’s parrot that had been singing  _ Dancing Queen _ ’s refrain all day in the hotel lobby.

“I don’t need friends; I have a singing parrot in the lobby. Don’t you ever listen to what I say?” Connor snorted.

“Gabriel told me you’re not so bad,” Liam countered with a slight smirk.

And that’s when Connor realized that Liam had bonded with Gabriel, of all people. Karma was really a shitty thing. “He didn’t tell you I’m a perv? That I assaulted him with a repulsive kiss?” Connor mocked, pushing boldly, “That I give head like no one else? Not that he would know, but I can show you sometime.”

Talking about Gabriel never unnerved him at all. 

Liam and he fucked for the first time soon after that. Connor isn’t exactly sure how it happened, and it didn’t occur often, although Connor liked what they had, as both men found comfort in the sex. 

It was like the photographer could see that Connor’s witty mind was a facade, while the painter sensed Liam’s loneliness. Their relationship was weird - Connor never stopped babbling when they had sex; he just loved to annoy people too much - but it suited them. Most of the time, Connor even forgot why he had bonded with Liam in the first place. Only when the fucking asshole showed up in town, reclaiming his due, did Connor remember he was an unwilling spy.

And since Justin’s arrival, the action has escalated, and Connor doesn’t like it one bit. Being coerced into following Justin and giving updates to the person pulling the strings regarding the blond’s relationship with Liam is not something Connor wants to do. He didn’t understand why Justin was supposed to recognize Liam, when it seemed obvious he had never met the man. But he was ordered to watch them closely, to insert himself into Justin’s life, so he pretty much stalked the artist. What other choice did he have? When the psycho visited him again earlier this week, Connor was punched twice to get the message across - results expected. Not that the painter plans to do other than comply. He can’t risk anything happening to his mother. She’s been his anchor ever since he was a baby, the reason he has stayed sane. 

And then, Justin called the photographer ‘Brian’ after his accident, Connor immediately understanding the blond had recognized who Liam really was, and that the photographer is not the man he claims to be. After that, it was easy to decipher the truth. All it took was a little research on Google, to discover that Justin was bashed eight years ago for dancing with his male lover, and that man was supposedly murdered in 2003. 

A man named Brian. Connor would never have connected Brian Kinney and Liam Byron if not for this information, since the two men are nothing alike. But now that he has, he can’t help questioning what Liam - or should he say Brian - did that led him to fake his own death. It’s even more ludicrous since, unbeknownst to the photographer, a fucking psycho keeps playing a cat and mouse game with him. If his blackmailer knows Liam’s real identity, why spy on him? Why not stop Justin from meeting the photographer? It doesn’t make any sense.

Connor has two options. Either he informs his blackmailer that Justin has indeed recognized Liam. Or he lies and tries to protect them and their secret for as long as he can. But if the psycho ever learns that he lied, then...

No matter what he does, someone is going to get hurt. 

***

**_The chalet, two hours later_ **

Brian wakes up to the sound of pencil scratching on paper. Blinking, he peers to his right and discovers Justin sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed, engrossed in drawing. The blond looks up, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he notices Brian is awake.

“Hey,” Justin says, putting the sheet of paper and the pencil aside, moving to sit next to Brian.

“Hey,” Brian replies, rubbing his face. “What time is it?”

“A little after three,” Justin answers. “How are you feeling?”

Brian inhales deeply. “I need a shower.”

“I’ll fix us something to eat,” Justin volunteers and is about to stand up when Brian prevents him from doing so by gripping his arm. “What?”

Brian stares at Justin and pulls, forcing the blond to lean down. He covers his lips for a few seconds, before breaking the kiss.

“What was that for?” Justin questions with a shy smile.

Brian shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Justin nods before standing, leaving Brian in bed. The brunet watches him walk out of the room and finally gets up. 

Fifteen minutes later, he steps out of the shower, feeling more refreshed than he has in days. The chalet is quiet as he shuffles toward the living room after getting dressed. With a frown, Brian steps outside.

Justin is sitting on the swing bench, a plate of homemade sandwiches by his side. “Hey,” he calls out. “I made tuna sandwiches. Do you have a bag of chips or something?”

Brian smirks. “I see you’re still a junk food junkie.” he drawls, before disappearing inside. 

“Ohhh,” Justin cheers when Brian comes back outside with a tin of Pringles. “You’re my hero.”

Brian chuckles at Justin’s enthusiasm. “Don’t eat them all. I’m starving too.” he warns, picking up half a sandwich and taking a huge bite, before giving Justin a few Pringles.

“Huh?” Justin stuffs three into his mouth. Swallowing, he teases,  “You’re aware you’ll become fat if you’re not cautious and eat too many of those, right? I mean, I’m still young, but your metabolism must be slowing down in your old age.”

“Nice try,” Brian opens the can of Pringles again, keeping it out of Justin’s reach, and smirks as he shakes out at least a dozen of them. “You’ve put on some weight in the last six years, so maybe you’re the one who should be careful.”

“Fuck you!” Justin pushes Brian playfully. “I’m barely three pounds heavier!”

Brian laughs at Justin’s outraged expression, enjoying the foolishness of the moment, as he takes another bite of his sandwich. “How much mayo did you put on that anyway? It’s dripping out the sides.”

“Ha! Now, you’re complaining,” Justin intones. “I never understood how you could eat those dry turkey sandwiches. Eating a sandwich without mayo should be forbidden. It’s a sacrilege.”

“Right,” Brian says mockingly. “Too much of worshipping this shit will make your ass lose its special flavor.  Now, that would be what I call a real shame.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “My ass will always be round and perfect, no matter what, unlike yours.”

“What?” Brian exclaims. “What’s your problem with my ass?”

Justin can’t keep a giggle from escaping his lips. Brian tries hard not to smile at the absurdity of their conversation, but it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to be silly. It’s a fucking good feeling.

“It's kind of flat,” Justin counters, before trailing off with a smirk, “always has been…”

“Hey!” Now, Brian is the one pushing Justin away. “You haven’t seen it in a while. So stop judging or you will never see it again.”

Justin laughs, and Brian feels his heart thump as he watches the blond. Justin peers up at him, his eyes smiling, and before he realizes what he’s done, Brian has impulsively leaned in to kiss him. They’ve done a lot of kissing in the last couple of days, even though neither of them has initiated sex yet. Brian isn’t sure exactly why they’re holding back, since he has no doubt Justin wants him as much as he wants the blond. In fact, he would have thought that after so many years, they would have satisfied their physical desires at the first opportunity, but he also realizes that taking that step could be too much, when they’re already struggling to keep their emotions under control.

Although they can’t help themselves when it comes to kissing.

Somehow, Justin’s lips are soon pressing harder against his own, his body scooting closer. Brian didn’t intend for the heat to overwhelm them, but again, anytime he tastes Justin, he wants more. So, he lets himself deepen the kiss, lets his tongue entwine with Justin’s, his hands soon moving of their own accord, grazing Justin's hair, his face, his skin. At this point, Brian is fully hard. He furtively envisions Justin stroking his erection through his jeans, opening his pants, taking him in his mouth. He sees them naked, Brian’s body covering the blond’s, his hips moving back and forth. Justin’s expression as he comes flashes before his eyes.

He isn’t sure how much time pass before Justin reluctantly breaks their kiss. When he does, Brian immediately notices the look on his face. “What?” he whispers, catching his breath and willing his hard-on to diminish, realizing something is bothering the blond.

In response, Justin caresses his face, and places his forehead against Brian’s. The brunet stays silent, guessing Justin needs a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I was thinking of going to Pittsburgh.” Justin finally discloses.

Brian nods against Justin’s skin, before eventually leaning back to gaze at the blond, inquiring, “When?”

“Tomorrow,” Justin reveals, “maybe Monday if I can’t get a flight sooner.”

Brian keeps his face unreadable, but he’s anything but calm inside. He doesn’t want Justin to leave. He also doesn’t have a choice and knows it’s for the best, so he breathes out, “Okay.”

Justin sighs and gets up. “We should go to the studio, so I can book a flight. I also need a car to drive to Billings.”

“I took care of that when you were still at the hospital. There should be a new rental at the hotel.” Brian informs the blond as he, too, stands up from the swing. “We just have to pick up the key at the front desk. We can do that after going to the studio.”

Justin nods, but he doesn’t move from the porch.

Brian senses Justin is anxious about what’s to come. He is too, honestly. They have absolutely no clue about what is going to happen. And talking about it won’t make any difference. Yet, Brian can’t help but spout some futile reassurance bullshit, although he doesn't know who he’s really trying to convince. “It’s for the best.”

“Is it?” Justin questions with a nervous laugh. “I know I need to go back so that we don’t raise any suspicion regarding why I’m here. But I don’t want to. And we don’t fucking know if it will make things worse.”

“Hey,” Brian calls out, not liking to see Justin like this. “Nobody knows I’m alive or that you recognized me. We’ll be fine.”

Justin snorts, looking away. He’s not stupid. He knows Brian doesn’t believe that any more than he does and that things could easily get out of hand, with neither of them able to stop it.

“Justin…” Brian warns.

“Don’t. I know,” Justin cuts him off. “We need to be careful, and I can’t stay in Lakevallée much longer. I just wish… I want this to be over. For you -  _ us _ \- to have our lives back.”

Brian purses his lips, reflecting on Justin’s declaration. Sure, he wants to be free of this nightmare, but he never allows himself to think about what he would do if it did happen. All his friends, his son, they all think he’s dead. How will they react if they find out he is alive? Anytime that possibility enters his mind, he feels his blood run cold. Will they understand? Will they forgive him for staying away? Will his son even remember him?

“I want that too,” he eventually whispers, enveloping Justin in a hug. “I want that too,” he repeats, grateful that Justin can’t see the fear on his face as he pronounces those words.

  
  



	16. One last time

 

**_The gallery, Saturday afternoon, July 25th_ **

Gabriel is trying to work. Ever since his visit with Mary Elizabeth a few hours earlier, he’s been distracted, replaying her plea to help her son over and over, thinking back to the look on Connor’s face when he faced him the previous day. The night they spent together is constantly on his mind, and he is going crazy trying to understand how things could have gone to shit so fast.

He’s come to the conclusion that he needs to do something but, so far, doesn’t have the slightest clue how to get Connor to speak to him. Being the most stubborn, annoying, pig-headed person Gabriel knows, Connor will probably refuse to see him ever again if Gabriel pushes too hard. On the other hand, he can’t just let Connor down and do nothing.

Being in love with Connor Decunn is really a pain. 

For now, Gabriel is trying to distract himself with work. He needs to make the final selections for the late autumn exhibit, which will feature abstract art from Montana’s established painters. The process is made more difficult, since a couple of Connor’s paintings need to be among those chosen - the artist having created a few abstracts, including one some years ago. Gabriel is waiting for the green light from the Portland Art Museum for that particular piece, which has been part of their permanent collection for the last three years.

He’s staring at a photograph of the painting in a binder of Connor’s artwork when someone knocks on his office door. “Come in,” he calls out as he gazes down at the mess on his work table. 

“Hey,” Liam greets him. 

Gabriel looks up, noticing Justin has accompanied his friend.

“Liam, Justin,” he greets them, placing the binder on the table and heading over to the two men.

Justin is looking around Gabriel’s office in awe. The room is situated in an alcove of the former train station and displays all the authenticity of that era, including an old train track on the wall and two large openings leading to the former platform. “Wow, I’d kill for an office like this.” the blond raves, offering Gabriel a broad smile.

Gabriel smiles back. “This gallery isn’t renowned throughout America for no reason. What are you doing here?”

“Justin wanted to come and say goodbye,” Liam volunteers somewhat sardonically. “He’s leaving soon.”

“Yeah,” Justin confirms. “As much as I love this town, I can’t stay forever.”

“So, it’s back to Philly?” Gabriel questions, observing Liam. Something has obviously happened between the two men, and Gabriel has no idea if they will continue seeing each other or not. He hopes so. 

“Actually, no. I need to visit my mom,” Justin discloses, walking over to the table and looking down at the photos. His lips curl upward as he discovers Connor’s painting. “I like that one, ‘Emerald Darkness.’ ” he enthuses, glancing at Gabriel.

“Connor doesn’t usually paint abstracts, but he created this one a few years ago,” Gabriel explains, standing next to Justin and gazing at the photograph.

“He told me he didn’t like it. In fact, I think the exact word he used was ‘trash,’ ” Justin reports with a laugh, as he studies the emerald strokes interlaced with black lines.

“He did?” Gabriel inquires, surprised Justin would know about this painting. “He showed you a picture?”

“No,” Justin refutes. “It was one of the two pieces he so generously showed me when we all went to his place last Wednesday.”

Gabriel frowns. That can’t be true, since he knows for a fact that the original is in Portland. He even saw it in person the year before when he traveled to meet with his friend Isaac, who manages the museum.

“Hey, are you okay?” Liam questions.

“What?” Gabriel peers up at Liam, hurriedly smoothing away his frown and relaxing his tensed muscles. Liam must have sensed that something is wrong. Trying to act as normal as possible, he casually dismisses the other man’s concern, “Sure.”

“I really need to check on my flight,” Justin interjects, speaking to Liam.

“Why don’t you go ahead to the studio?” Liam offers, snatching a piece of paper from Gabriel’s desk and writing something down on it. Straightening up, he gives it to Justin along with a set of keys. “Here’s my password for the computer. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“Kay,” Justin nods, before turning to Gabriel. “I hope we’ll see each other again soon,” he says, oblivious to Gabriel’s uneasiness.

“That would be great,” Gabriel concurs as enthusiastically as he can. “I’d like you to come back and explore our new exhibitions. We have two more planned before the year is over.”

“Who knows?” Justin replies. “I’d love that.”

***

After Justin leaves, Brian observes his friend as the blond silently paces back and forth between his desk and the large table in the center of his office. It’s obvious that Gabriel wishes Brian would also leave, so he can deal by himself with whatever is bothering him.

“Are you gonna ignore me all day?” Brian finally grouses. He is leaning back against Gabriel’s desk, his arms crossed, feigning boredom.

Gabriel frowns, looking up at him as if just remembering he’s still here. He finally complains as he picks up a pencil, “I need one last painter to include in the late autumn exhibition. I can’t decide between Sweeney and Chang.”

Brian stands up and saunters over to him, peering at the two paintings in front of Gabriel. “That one.” He points to the one on the left - one of Chang’s - and rests a hip against the work table.

Gabriel considers Brian’s suggestion for a second, before repeatedly circling Chang’s name on a sheet of paper and responding, “If I remember correctly, you and Sweeney met a few months ago?” 

“Yep,” Liam confirms with a smirk, watching the repetitive motion of Gabriel’s pen. He met Sweeney at one of the winter exhibits the year before and vividly remembers a lovely exchange between them, including remarks like ‘pathetic asshole’ and ‘pretentious prick’.

Gabriel snorts, but puts Sweeney’s binder to one side. Then, he just gazes at Chang’s painting, although it’s like he doesn’t see it at all. 

Brian frowns. “Gabe,” he calls out, touching his arm, wanting his friend to talk to him. “What’s wrong?”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows, sill eyeing the table. “I just want this selection to be done and dealt with. Where is my fucking pen?” he snarls as he turns around, ready to go over to his desk.

Brian stops him, grabbing his wrist and removing the pen from his hand. “Here,” he says, giving it back to him. 

Gabriel glances at him, before letting out a sigh and leaning against the table next to his friend. 

Brian waits for a moment, questioning if Gabriel will open up to him or not, but eventually, the blond begins, “Connor is in trouble. I’m not sure exactly what kind of trouble, but…” He rubs his face. “The painting Justin mentioned earlier? He shouldn’t have seen it. In fact, it’s impossible that he saw it at Connor’s house since it’s on display in Portland. So, I need someone to explain to me how the fucking painting can be in two places at once. You know someone who can do that?” he inquires sarcastically, now looking up at the ceiling. 

“You really want an answer to that one?” Brian quips, though he’s not sure what to say. He never expected Gabriel to tell him something like this.

“No,” Gabriel responds. 

Brian looks at his friend, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m in love with Connor. I fucking love him.” Gabriel discloses, surprising Brian with how easily he says the words. The brunet has been aware of Gabriel’s struggle for a while now, although he wasn’t sure the blond would ever acknowledge the complexity of his feelings for his childhood friend. Still, he didn’t realize Connor means so much to Gabriel. 

Gabriel resumes, revealing, “Connor has been avoiding me ever since Justin’s accident, when we… slept together.” 

Brian frowns, puzzled by this revelation. Even though he saw the way his two friends were looking at each other the day of the accident, he didn’t think Gabriel - who’d denied his attraction to the man for most of his life - would go as far as sleeping with Connor. He questioned incredulously, “You had sex, and he has been a no-show ever since?” The part about Connor avoiding Gabriel now that they’ve had sex makes no sense at all; or, it would make no sense, if Justin hadn’t inadvertently given them a reasonable explanation for his behavior.

Gabriel nods, specifying, “I’ve suspected Connor is in deep trouble and wanted to keep me out of it for a while now.” He pauses and picks up Connor’s binder, staring at the painting, ‘Emerald Darkness’. “I had no idea it could be because of something like this.”

Brian can scarcely comprehend what Gabriel just told him. If Connor really created two identical paintings, or is a part of some kind of scam, he could be in serious trouble. Brian has a hard time imagining Connor as a felon, though. The man can be annoying as hell, but he is one of the few people Brian has connected with since settling in Lakevallée. He has never thought of him as a friend per se, but if he had to use a label to explain who Connor is to him, he probably would call him a friend. And what about the painter’s relationship with Gabriel? Brian may have ignored until now that Connor is the real deal for the gallery owner, but on the other hand, he has never doubted Connor’s feelings for Gabriel and has a hard time believing he would consciously lie to him.

Maybe - and it’s what Brian is hoping, for everyone’s sake - this is just a huge misunderstanding. Maybe the two paintings are part of a series and are not the same. Gabriel seems completely freaked out by the possibility of a forgery, but they have no proof, and they could be totally wrong. The possibility of Connor being involved in illegal activities doesn’t sit well with Brian, however, not when the man who is after him is a trafficker in stolen art. Maybe the two are not related at all, but what if they are? 

Focusing on his friend, Brian counters, “Maybe it’s not what you think. And even if it is, what are you going to do? Report him?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Gabriel answers, obviously trying to think it through. “I need to see that painting for myself.”

Brian narrows his eyes at Gabriel suspiciously. “You’re going to break into his house?” 

Gabriel looks right at him. “Yes. And you’re going to help me.”

***

Brian leaves the gallery, joining Justin at his studio. The blond informs him that he booked a flight for the next day at eleven a.m, which means he will have to leave the chalet at dawn the following morning. The confirmation of Justin’s departure does nothing to ease Brian’s mood.

He promised to join Gabriel at Connor’s on Tuesday morning, since the painter will likely be at the hotel helping his mom, and Gabriel is leaving on a business trip and will be away on Sunday and Monday. Brian is still not convinced breaking into his house is a good idea, but Gabriel is right that they need to verify the painting is the same as the one on exhibit in Portland.

He is still mulling things over when he and Justin pick up the new rental at the Decunn Hotel and return to the chalet .

“I’m going to take a shower,” Justin announces as they arrive. 

“Go. I need to make a call.” Brian declares, grateful when Justin doesn’t question him about it.

After Justin is in the bathroom, Brian walks to the bedroom, moves the wooden panel near the window, and retrieves the prepaid phone. He listens for the sound of the shower, before exiting the chalet.

He walks toward the lake, stopping when he reaches it, and dials.

Carl picks up after the second ring. “Brian. What’s up?”

“Hey, Carl. I have a job for you.” he enunciates, before clarifying, “I need you to investigate Connor Decunn.”

***

**_Saturday night, nine p.m._ **

They’re sitting on the swinging bench in silence, slowly swaying back and forth, Justin pressed against Brian. The brunet absently touches the palm of his hand but doesn’t say anything, just staring into the distance. 

Justin can feel the beating of his heart in his chest, aware this could be their last night together. He refuses to think about the future, the possibility that something could go wrong, that Brian could be taken away from him again. He refuses to think about it and yet, he feels an overwhelming  _ something _ .

“I never could forget you,” Brian whispers out of the blue, breaking the silence of the night. “I tried to move on. To stop thinking about you, about my son, my friends. To accept that the odds of ever being a part of your lives again were negligible, considering I was dead and buried. To recognize that even if I could go back, I wasn’t sure I would.”

Justin doesn’t interrupt him, just interlaces their fingers.

“I’m still not sure I will ever be able to face my former life. It’s… terrifying.”

Justin peers over, noticing the sadness in Brian’s gaze. He realizes the brunet is not really talking to him. It’s like he’s trying to understand how he feels by acknowledging how frightened he is.

“Brian Kinney was so carefree - reckless.” Brian continues, “Free to do as he pleased, only giving a shit about getting laid and being successful. Liam Byron, on the other hand, I’m not sure exactly what he wants. I don’t know who he is.”

It’s hard for Justin to hear Brian talk like this. He wants to take him in his arms and never let him go, vowing that everything is going to be okay, that they will get their lives back and have their happy ending, because they’ve earned it after all the shit they’ve been through. But he doesn’t say that, because that’s not what Brian needs to hear. “You’re Brian Kinney.” he claims, forcing the brunet to look at him. “Never doubt that. No matter what happened, no matter how much shit you’ve faced to be where you are today, away from your family and friends, you’re still the same man I fell in love with nine years ago. And your friends, your family, they still love you, and they’d welcome you back with open arms if they had the chance. They love you, Brian.  _ I  _ love you.”

Brian’s eyes soften, and Justin grabs the man by the nape of his neck, repeating with conviction, “I love you.”

Brian reaches up, slowly sliding his fingers into Justin’s hair, before covering his lips. 

***

They barely make it to the bed. Both men know they won’t stop this time, the kiss they share turning desperate within seconds, reflecting their fear of being apart, years of loss and yearning lending this moment an intensity they’ve never felt, that they will never feel again.

Their clothes litter the living room and the corridor leading to the bedroom. 

Brian traps Justin against the closed bedroom door. His lips are crushing Justin’s as he reaches for the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open. He propels the blond backward into the room, until his legs hit the bed. Justin falls onto the mattress, slipping his pants off, while Brian does the same until he is standing there, nude, staring at the expression on Justin’s face as the blond waits for him to join him.

After all the years apart, the realization that he still loves Justin so completely should terrify him. People probably wouldn’t understand why Brian has been determined to hold back until now, but making love to Justin will become a memory that will haunt him for years if they don’t make it, if for some reason Brian needs to disappear again and start over. He has tried for so many years to hold onto the little sanity he has left, that he isn’t sure he would survive losing Justin again. 

“Are you sure?” he breathes out, giving Justin one last chance to walk away, to avoid experiencing something that will make it even harder to be apart. 

Justin doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he sits up and leans forward, breathing in Brian’s scent.  

When the blond’s lips close over his cock, Brian stops thinking, stops being scared about what may happen. He feels Justin’s tongue sucking him, the lips moving up and down gently, unhurriedly, the blond’s nose grazing his pubes. He moans, unaware of how loud he is, too aroused to control his body’s reaction. Justin keeps pleasuring him, as if in a trance, for long moments, until Brian feels the tingling deep within slowly overtaking him.

He doesn’t want it to be over like this. Without warning, he shoves against Justin’s shoulder, signaling he wants him to stop. When Justin complies, a question in his blue eyes, he doesn’t give the younger man a chance to protest. Instead, Brian immediately pushes him flat on the bed. He kisses him, kisses every inch of his skin, until he stops, mesmerized by the sight of Justin’s neglected cock. At the first taste of it, he groans, his hands grasping his hips, longing to hear Justin’s cries as he comes. It’s all he can think of. 

But listening to Justin as he devours him is not enough, he realizes. He therefore grabs Justin’s ankle and pulls it up, his mouth never stopping its ministrations, first moving to his balls, then to the sensitive skin behind them, and finally toward his goal. He keeps licking and sucking, marveling at the familiarity of his lover’s scent, taking his time to rediscover the elation of their coupling. Justin is wriggling beneath him, chanting his name over and over, asking him for more, soon begging for Brian to fuck him.

It’s that last step Brian isn’t sure he will survive. Justin will be gone by morning, maybe for a brief time, maybe forever, and all he will have is the memory of the bliss of being inside Justin. His tongue is now probing inward. He feels Justin relaxing and opening to him, feels how crazy he is for Brian to take him.

He needs to slow down, to put a condom on, but he can’t. The blond’s taste is too intoxicating, his cries urging the brunet to plunge inside him.

“Stop,” The blond weakly pleads, although he’s pushing against Brian’s mouth, his body disobeying his own command as the brunet devours his ass. He has missed this, rimming Justin until the only thing the blond can do is beg for more.

“God, stop!” Justin exclaims after a few seconds as he grabs the base of his cock and squeezes it to prevent himself from coming, escaping Brian’s grip. Brian nonetheless continues to pepper Justin’s thigh with kisses, reaching for a rubber and lube, intending to tear it open and slip the condom onto his dick as fast as he can. 

Justin grasps his hand before he can do so, his gaze reflecting not only his lover’s eagerness to fuck him, but also mirroring how desperate he is. The blond tosses aside the wrapper, unrolling the rubber onto the brunet’s cock. Once it’s done, he adds some lube, his eyes never leaving Brian’s face.

Justin smiles. Without saying a word, he maneuvers them both until Brian’s dick is grazing his hole. 

The blond grips the brunet’s hand and places it over his own on Brian’s shaft, pressing against it. Brian feels like his chest is going to explode as he looks into Justin's eyes and pushes, the head of his cock encountering an indescribable heat. Their hands are joined on his shaft until they have to break apart, Justin’s fingers finding his lover’s balls and rubbing the remaining lube over them, before he finally lets go, arching his back with a gasp as Brian’s dick plunges inside him.

It’s too much. Brian squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in Justin’s neck as he withdraws and thrusts back in. He pauses, wondering how anything can feel so good. Within seconds, he lets go, abandoning himself to the moment, his cock coming and going inside Justin, again and again, the blond’s hands gripping his ass and forcing the brunet deeper with each thrust. Brian cries out when Justin tightens around him, when his arms close around his back, when he presses against the back of his neck to bring their lips together; when he feels the bliss he was so afraid of, the bliss only this man has ever made him feel.

The movement of his hips intensifies. He’s barely withdrawing now, and Justin’s cock is hard, leaking against his stomach. They’re kissing, Justin’s moans becoming more urgent, until he is crying out in Brian’s mouth, warm come erupting from his cock onto Brian’s skin. His orgasm is so intense that Brian feels the rhythmical contractions around his shaft, and it’s pure heaven. He breaks their kiss and grimaces as his own climax overpowers him, his cock pulsating inside the condom as he begins to shoot. It seems endless, each tremor of his orgasm rolling through him in a blissful wave, each one making him think it can’t get any better, until the next. When his release is over, he collapses onto Justin.

As he comes to, he feels Justin’s lips on his neck, kissing him gently. He hears the blond breathing, the warmth stirring the fine hairs on his skin, but he can’t open his eyes or move at all. He’s still inside Justin and doesn’t want to withdraw, feeling drained and on the verge of crying. 

His cock is soft when he carefully slips out. After tying off the condom and discarding it on the floor by the bed, he rolls onto his back, Justin immediately scooting into his arms. The blond’s hand roams over his stomach for a while, neither man saying anything.

They must have fallen asleep because when he wakes up, Justin is snoring softly against his shoulder. Brian peers down at him, reaching out to caress his hair. As he does, Justin opens his eyes and looks right at him, and Brian feels that pull in his chest, leaning in to cover his lips. He could spend the entire night kissing the blond, he thinks, breathing in his scent and sharing his spit, but of course, he wants more, to make love. He used to hate that expression, making love. 

When Justin opens him later that night, using his tongue and his fingers, he lets him. He wants it, wants to feel Justin inside him, so he stays on his stomach and pushes back against the blond’s lips, marveling at the sensation of fingers scissoring him open. Nobody has fucked him in years, and he has missed the feeling of a man probing that unique spot, provoking an all-consuming response. Topping can’t compare with the sense of giving yourself over completely, your body reacting of its own accord, the pleasure less focused but spreading everywhere, through every cell.

Brian doesn’t even realize he’s raising his ass further, until he feels Justin at his entrance. He’s so gone already that he barely feels the pain of the penetration. He feels Justin’s progress, welcoming the fullness, tightening around that delicious cock, before forcing himself to relax long enough to move. When Brian finally pushes fully against Justin, they both gasp. 

The brunet starts fucking himself slowly on his lover’s cock. Moans of delight escape his lips as he focuses on the sensations, each push making him want to shove back harder, but he doesn’t. He just gradually takes it deeper and deeper, waiting for Justin’s arousal to urge him forward at the sight of Brian opening for him.

The blond takes charge after a couple more leisurely thrusts from Brian, but he surprisingly goes slow, moving in easy circles, gasping anytime he is deep buried inside his lover, pausing after every couple of thrusts to enjoy the perfection of their union. Brian wants to yell at how good it feels, and he holds on for as long as he can. 

But his patience ends when Justin suddenly covers his back with his chest and lets go. “It’s so good…” he marvels mindlessly, licking Brian’s skin and pounding into his ass with short, powerful thrusts, driving them toward orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck!” Brian shouts. He can’t take it, not when Justin is repeatedly hitting that spot over and over, not when the blond reaches for his cock and starts to pump it. Justin is assaulting his neck, using his lips, his hands gripping his hips tightly as he plunges inside Brian. The brunet feels the bliss spreading throughout his body as Justin’s groans echo in his ears. It’s everywhere, overpowering him; he craves it so much that he covers the blond’s hand with his own to accentuate the pressure, hearing his own moans getting higher and higher as his orgasm builds. Justin cries out as he tightens around his dick, thrusting a couple more times before yelling in ecstasy, while wave after wave of come pours from Brian’s shaft onto their joined hands.

Brian falls flat on the bed, Justin plastered to his back, his arms immediately encircling the brunet, as they try to catch their breath.

The blond tightens his hold, burying his face in the crook of Brian’s neck. Brian tentatively turns around and wraps his arms around Justin. He wants to see his face, but Justin is hugging him too tightly. So, he simply holds him, placing his lips against the blond’s ear.

“I love you,” he says.

He feels the moisture on Justin’s face. He places a hand on Justin’s cheek, and leans back, gazing at the tears rolling down, as the blond smiles at him.

  
  
  



	17. Hello, Pittsburgh

**_Pittsburgh, Monday morning_ **

Justin never anticipated that being back in Pittsburgh after discovering the truth about Brian would be so hard. He misses Brian. He’s inundated by feelings he doesn’t know what to do with, although he refuses to let them overwhelm him. He has a plan to follow, and wallowing in self pity won’t accomplish anything. 

He walked out of the chalet at dawn on Sunday morning, leaving Brian asleep in his bed, scared of being unable to go if he said goodbye. The trip back to Pittsburgh was uneventful, and he landed, as expected, a little after six. During the evening, he tried to smile, regaling his mother with imaginary tales about his trip. He couldn't eat, only picking at his food, but she surprisingly didn’t comment on his lack of appetite. He isn’t sure how he survived her probing questions, fearing the moment she would guess he was hiding something, but that moment never came. Either he is a pretty good liar, or she was too happy to see her son to notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the false smile on his face.

After a restless night, Justin gets up just in time to kiss his mother goodbye. He leaves his mother’s condo a little after nine-thirty and walks around aimlessly for a while. He needs this time to sort out his feelings, to prepare himself to face the old gang, to smile and act as if nothing has changed since the last time they talked.

At the park, he spends an hour just looking around and doodling on his sketchpad. He desperately wants to call Brian, but they’d both agreed, for everyone’s safety, that they wouldn’t make contact except for emergencies. So, instead, he draws an eighty-year-old man who is sitting on a bench a few feet away, his cane safely anchored between his legs, as if afraid someone will snatch it from him if he doesn’t hold onto it firmly. It makes Justin think about Brian again, for some fucked-up reason. 

Half an hour later, he hands the drawing to the man with a curt nod and steps back, the man mouthing a thank you at him.

Next thing he knows, he is standing in front of the Liberty Diner. He peers through the window, noticing Debbie’s there, along with Michael and Ted. Checking his watch, he realizes it’s already twelve-fifteen. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, inhaling deeply a couple of times and securing his portfolio beneath one arm, before approaching the door.

“Sunshine!” Debbie squeals as soon as he enters the eatery. He barely has time to  place the portfolio on a nearby stool before being engulfed in a tight hug. Deb is followed by Ted and Michael, who greet him enthusiastically, smiling broadly.

“I’m home!” he quips, his lips curling upward as a warm feeling spreads through his chest. 

“When did you land?” Michael asks as he guides him toward an empty stool after he has retrieved his drawings, sitting next to him, while Ted takes the seat to his left.

“Last night,” Justin reveals, putting the portfolio on the counter. “I thought I’d check here before calling. How are you guys?”

“Us?” Ted responds. “We’re-”

“Fabulous,” Emmett’s voice purrs from behind Justin, the man’s arms around Michael and Ted’s shoulders.

“Emmett!” Justin exclaims, standing up to greet his friend. “Hey!”

“Hello, handsome. How nice of you to pay us aging queens a visit.” Emmett drawls with a serious face, before dropping the act and cheering, “It’s so nice to have our Sunshine back! How are you, baby?”

“I’m fine,” Justin replies. “Just coming back from a trip.”

“Oh, do tell.” Emmett bumps his shoulder. “Were the guys hot?”

Justin rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that kind of trip.”

“What did you do?” Emmett questions somewhat incredulously, as if going on a vacation where he didn’t get fucked three times a day was a waste. Justin narrows his eyes at the man, chuckling when he notices Emmett’s mischievous grin.

“Quit pestering the poor kid with questions,” Ted intervenes. Ever since they bonded over their drug addictions, Ted has acted like Justin’s older brother, which is damn cute, if also sometimes a little annoying.

“It’s okay, Ted,” Justin answers. “I wanted to rediscover my… inspiration. I spent the week drawing.”

“You did?” Ted eyes him suspiciously, before a huge smile breaks across his face. “That’s great, Justin! I’m really happy you...” His smile disappears as he suddenly says, “Wait… how did you get your inspiration back if you didn’t get laid? You didn’t-”

“No, don’t worry,” Justin hastily reassures him. “I didn’t do any drugs. Just breathed in the scenery and the quiet and...” He shrugs.

“Maybe he ate mushrooms and discovered his true self, like we did a few years back,” Emmett volunteers. “Remember our trip to that fairy camp, Michael?” 

Michael’s face sobers as he recalls the reason they went in the first place, and Justin surmises his friend’s thoughts. After Brian was shot, Michael suffered a severe breakdown and was institutionalized for a couple of months. When he finally pulled himself together, Emmett - who broke down sobbing anytime Brian’s name was mentioned - offered to go on a retreat. They spent a weekend parading around practically naked at a fairy nature camp, where Michael apparently ingested a bad mushroom and ended up having an interesting discussion with a man who was supposedly dead.

Michael finally relaxes. “I remember you dancing among the trees, singing ‘God Bless America.’ ” he finishes with a smirk.

“Oh, that was fantastic,” Emmett enthuses. “Feeling the wind graze my naked body and being so in tune with nature…”

“Getting bitten all over by mosquitoes and having to wipe our asses with oak leaves,” Michael adds, placing a hand on Emmett’s shoulder. “The best experience we ever shared.”

“We should so do it again,” Emmett grins back at Michael.

Michael’s smile falters for a second before he intones, smirking, “Why don’t you ask Justin?” 

Both men turn their heads to look at him with silly smiles on their faces. “Uh, no?” Justin laughs.

“You would love it,” Emmett enthuses.

“Guys,” Ted cuts them off. “Give him a break. He just got here. You want him to go back to Philly already?”

“No. In fact, what about dinner tonight? You guys can all come; Hunter’s cooking.” Michael tries hard not to smile, but he can’t restrain a giggle at the scowl on Justin’s face. “It’s not that bad - promise. In fact, if you ask me, my son’s a pretty decent cook.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about Hunter?” Justin jokes, quite impressed with himself for appearing so relaxed as he chats with his friends. Furthermore, this is the perfect opportunity for him to talk to the former hustler.

“Positive,” Michael assures him, before looking at Ted and Emmett, “Guys?”

“I’m out. Blake and I are going to the opera tonight,” Ted excuses himself, while gazing at Justin apologetically.

“And I’m out, too, unfortunately. I have a banquet at the Hotel de Ville.” Emmett sing-songs proudly, dropping a kiss on Justin’s cheek. “We’ll catch up later, okay, baby? I want to hear everything about the lovely life of one Justin Taylor.”

“Sure,” Justin replies with a false smile, crazy visions of revealing the truth about Brian assailing him. He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus, specifying, “I’ll call you.”

A minute later, Emmett leaves, throwing a “Bye, sweeties! See you later!” at the three of them. Michael and Ted depart an hour later. Justin stays, catching up with Debbie whenever the redhead is at the counter, until he realizes it’s already four in the afternoon. He then heads back to the condo, hoping to see his mom before going to Michael and Ben’s house.

***

**_Lakevallée, same time_ **

Connor walks into his house and heads straight for the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of vodka from a shelf. He grabs a tumbler, pours in alcohol, and gulps it in one go, before slamming it back down.

He braces his hands against the counter, unsure what to do in his restlessness. He’s barely slept for three days, and he had a huge fight with his mother that morning when she asked him for the umpteemph time what was wrong with him. His phone rang four times while he was at the hotel, and he purposely ignored it, knowing who was calling him. 

His phone buzzes insistently inside his pocket. He retrieves it and peers at the display, envisioning throwing it against the wall. He can’t do that, so he sets it on the counter and picks up his glass instead.

There’s a sound of glass breaking just as his phone goes still. For a furtive moment, he feels better, but then the  phone buzzes again. 

“What?” he barks as he accepts the call, knowing shouting is useless and will only make things worse but unable to control his anger.

“You might want to tone it down if you don’t want anything bad to happen,” a low, almost amused voice answers. Almost, because Connor can’t miss the icy edge in that fucker’s voice, “The next time you don’t immediately pick up my call, you will regret it.”

Connor feels that fear again, crashing over him in a wave, and he has a sudden urge to throw up. “I’ve done everything you wanted,” he defends himself.

“Oh?” the voice resumes. “So, where is Justin Taylor right now?”

“I…” Connor stammers, “I’ll check on him now. I spent all weekend working on your commission.”

“Since when is your work more important than watching Taylor? I specifically told you to make him your top priority, and yet, you’re not even aware that he’s gone.” the voice continues.

Connor echoes incredulously, “Justin’s gone?”

“Yeah. I should just burn the hotel down to make you listen more carefully next time.” his tormentor remarks derisively.

“If you touch my mother, I will fucking kill you.” Connor snaps.

He hears a cynical laugh at the other end of the call. “Come on, Decunn, don’t give me a good reason to execute my threats. If you think I’m not dead serious when I say this is your last chance to redeem yourself, you’re even stupider than I thought.”

Connor feels his blood run cold. He knows his blackmailer is a fucking psycho, but he can’t help wanting to lash out. Hateful words echo in his head. He forces himself to breathe and finally whispers, rubbing his face as he leans against the counter, “What do you want me to do?”

“Go talk to Byron. See if you can gather any useful information.” the voice commands. “Now that Taylor is gone, though, you might come up empty. You’re lucky you’re one of the best forgers in America and that it’s not my call, or I’d have dealt with you a long time ago.” 

Connor winces.

“By the way… if you mouth off to anyone that Byron is not the man he claims to be, Harrington is dead.”

The call is disconnected before Connor can say anything else, and he feels his throat close up as he tries to comprehend what his blackmailer just said. But he can’t focus on the implied threat, because of the suffocating feeling in his chest as he realizes that the psycho knows about Gabriel. 

He stares numbly at the phone for a few seconds, before throwing up in the sink.

***

**_The studio, one hour later_ **

Brian clips the picture he just developed up to dry and turns on the dim light in the darkroom. He stares at the once deep red, rusted Impala coming to life against a background of pine trees with dark brown trunks, a shot he took earlier that morning when he’d gone for a ride on the Harley toward the northern end of the lake. For the last two days, he’s been working non-stop, mainly going out and taking pictures, finding it easier than mourning something he doesn’t even know how to sum up. The future may be good, or not. He may escape his current life or be trapped forever. At the moment, he prefers not to dwell on the possibilities. He has no control whatsoever, and if the past has taught him anything, it’s that making plans and imagining scenarios won’t keep him going. 

The ringing of the doorbell startles him, and he peers at his security camera, frowning when he discovers Connor standing at the door. He goes to the sink, washes his hands, and exits the darkroom before heading up the stairs. As he crosses the main room, he is struck by the vulnerability emanating from Connor’s posture. The man is staring off into the distance, waiting to be invited inside.

When Brian opens the door, Connor’s whole demeanor changes. “Not a second too soon,” the other brunet scoffs as he walks in. 

“Charming, as always,” Brian retorts, briefly tempted to tell the man to get lost. But he’s curious, and if he is being honest, worried too.

Connor looks around the space, noticing the new photographs on display. “I never thought I would see the day when you’d become a decent artist.” he taunts.

Brian merely raises his eyebrows. “You have your period or something?”

Connor ignores his joke. “Where’s Justin?”

“Not here,” Brian responds with a fake smile.

“Where then?” 

“He’s gone,” Brian offers. 

“Where?” Connor insists.

“Jesus Christ, Connor, why don’t you ask him yourself?” Brian growls, striding toward his office.

Connor follows him. “I don’t have his number.”

“That’s too bad,” Brian deadpans, grabbing the camera from his desk and removing the lens.

Connor unexpectedly stays quiet after that, dropping into the chair in front of the desk and leaning slightly forward with his elbows on his tights, his hands joined. “Shit,” he mumbles, peering at the floor.

Brian sighs and places the camera back on the desk. “What’s going on?” 

“Uh?” Connor gazes up at him with a frown.

“You…” Brian trails off, not sure what to say. 

Connor snorts. “You want to play shrink? Because I can tell you right away that you don’t have the necessary qualifications.”

“I want to know what you’re doing here,” Brian counters.

“I should go.” Connor stands up.

“Gabriel told me you’re ignoring his calls,” Brian pushes, as he takes a couple of steps around his desk.

Connor stills, his back to Brian, before turning to face him. “Is he alright?”

“He’s out of town for a couple of days, probably enjoying the break and trying to understand why you’re acting like a total dickhead,” Brian mocks matter-of-factly.

“It’s impregnated in my DNA,” Connor retorts, though his voice lacks its usual derision. “And what do you mean, out of town? Where is he?”

“You can call him and he’ll tell you.” Brian prods.

“Is he on a business trip?” Connor asks.

Brian frowns as he sees a flash of fear cross the painter’s face. 

“He is,” Brian confirms. Connor glances away. His shoulders are stiff and tension is emanating from him in waves. “He’ll be back tonight at six. You can check if you don’t believe me.”

Connor nods absentmindedly, still lost in thought.

“Connor,” Brian recalls his attention. “Give me a clue. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me why you’re acting like this.”

Connor’s eyes widen for a second, but he quickly covers it up, his face turning into an indecipherable mask. “I don’t need your help,” Connor dismisses his concern. 

“Are you in trouble?” Brian persists.

Connor shakes his head, avoiding Brian’s query. “Is Justin coming back?”

“Huh?” Brian frowns, not understanding why Connor is so set on talking about Justin. When Connor doesn’t respond, he answers with a simple, “No.”

Connor narrows his eyes at him. He seems angry. “I don’t believe you.”

Brian has had enough. He doesn’t know what Connor is up to, but he doesn’t like being questioned about Justin’s whereabouts, which are none of the painter’s business. “You know what? You can get lost. I don’t know what game you’re playing or what kind of trouble you’re in, but since you’re so set on lying to my face and stalking Justin for God knows what fucked-up reason, you need to leave me the fuck alone and pray that Gabriel doesn’t get tired of your pretty face, because I would drop your sorry ass as fast as I could if I were him.”

Lashing out at Connor doesn’t make Brian feel any better, especially when he notices the look on his face. For a moment, he thinks Connor is going to fight him, and he wants him to. Maybe then, he will be able to discern what the painter’s problem is. 

But Connor keeps his mouth shut. He gazes at Brian, but the brunet can’t read him. Next thing he knows, the painter has left the room without saying a word.

Brian doesn’t understand why he feels like a total shithead, but he does. “Shit,” he mutters, grabbing a couple sheets of paper and putting them absently in the top drawer. Once that’s done, he braces his hands on the desk and tries to decipher what just happened, but his mind is blank. Sighing deeply, he retrieves the prepaid cell from the back pocket of his jeans and dials.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says when Carl answers. “Any news on Connor Decunn?”

“Not yet,” Carl answers. “Jacquie is working on it.”

“Call me as soon as she discovers anything.” Brian demands. “Better yet, tell her to call me.”

“Will do,” Carl agrees. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Brian replies curtly. “Just keep me posted.” he says and ends the call.

He then goes back to the darkroom and immerses himself in his work. While replaying the scene with Connor in his head, his odd behavior confirming that something is seriously amiss, Brian tries to block the sense of loss as he acknowledges for the first time in two days that Justin is really gone. 

He isn’t sure what freaks him out the most.

***

**_Pittsburgh, 8 p.m._ **

“I must admit I was skeptical when Michael claimed you were a decent cook, but I was definitely wrong.” Justin says as he takes another mouthful of the carbonara and groans. “Seriously, this is good.”

“Well, I’m a man of many talents,” Hunter grins at Justin as he sits back down at the table after finishing his phone call.

“How is Kerry?” Ben inquires with a warm smile at his son.

“She’s horny,” Hunter announces, smirking.

Justin chuckles. “Still the womanizer?”

“What can I say? Hustling has been good for something. I’m an experienced sex god now.” Hunter proclaims, twirling his fork in the pasta.

Michael leans closer to Justin’s ear, chewing noisily. “He’s so totally into her.” 

“Fuck off!” Hunter punches Michael’s arm, “Seriously, Dad, Grandma should have taught you that it’s rude to eat with an open mouth.”

Michael laughs as he engulfs another mouthful of pasta with said open mouth.

Justin smiles, enjoying the easy banter in the Novotny-Bruckner household. They keep chatting, the blond sharing imaginary stories about his trip to Lakevallée, Hunter talking about his education courses at Carnegie Mellon, and Ben and Michael bringing him up to date on the latest gossip from Liberty Avenue. An hour later, while Ben and Michael are doing the dishes, Hunter plops down on the couch next to Justin.

“Being so perfect is exhausting,” Hunter quips as he nudges his glass of wine, his leg crossed over his knee, one arm along the back of the sofa. He takes a sip and grimaces.

“That bad?” Justin wonders.

Hunter sips again. “I hate red wine, but we’ve run out of beer, so there’s no choice.”

Justin yawns and rubs his face.

“You look like shit,” Hunter politely remarks.

Justin huffs, “I feel like shit. You need to tell my brain to stop harassing me at night so that I can crash for a week.”

Hunter smirks and straightens up, turning to face Justin and petting the blond’s head. “Stop harassing Barbie’s boy,” he drawls in a gruff voice.

Smiling, Justin evades Hunter’s playful touch. “It’s not working.”

Hunter grins mischievously. “Put your head on my knees.”

“What?” Justin snorts. 

“You know, so that I have a good reason to pet your hair while you share your sorrows with my humble self.”

Justin rolls his eyes.

“It that a no?” Hunter questions sardonically, drinking the rest of his wine and grabbing the bottle from the coffee table to pour himself another glass.

Justin shakes his head, his smile dying as he notices the wine is from the same vineyard as the one he consumed with Brian a week ago. As Hunter is about to raise the glass to his lips, Justin steals it.

“Hey!” Hunter complains. “You’re not supposed to drink!”

“Watch me,” Justin says and gulps the glass in one go. “Fuck, that’s good.”

He can feel Hunter’s gaze on him, the young man probably trying to decipher what is wrong with him.

“You knew Jason Kemp, didn’t you?” Justin blurts out as a warm dizziness washes over him.

“Huh? Why are you thinking about Jason?” Hunter inquires, snatching the glass back from Justin.

“He was killed at the same time Brian was murdered.” Justin shrugs, figuring that giving the former hustler a valid answer may help.

It seems to work, since Hunter leans back and places his feet on the coffee table. “Jason was my friend,” he murmurs.

“Do you ever wish…” Justin begins, trying to think of the best way to formulate his question. “... that you had a memento or, I don’t know, something you could hold onto?” Jesus, he sounds pathetic, but at the same time, he realizes he has nothing of Brian’s anymore. Only drawings, which aren’t nearly enough. 

“I have a full box of his stuff in my room,” Hunter reveals, startling Justin. “When the police found Jason’s body, I collected his belongings once they had sifted through them, hoping that one day I could meet with his family, but that hasn’t happened.”

“That’s fucking depressing,” Justin comments. “He had no family?”

“I don’t know. He never talked about them, and they never showed after he was killed,” Hunter answers. 

Both of them stay quiet for a while, listening to the muted sound of water splashing and Ben’s laughter echoing from the kitchen. Surprisingly, it’s Hunter who breaks the silence first, “Do you ever think you haven’t done enough, that you’re partly responsible for Brian’s killer still being on the loose?”

“Sometimes,” Justin breathes out, bewildered to realize that both he and Hunter have gone through the same ordeal of losing someone to an unnatural death. “Mainly, I’m pissed that my life goes on when Brian’s has been stolen.”

“Me too.” Hunter agrees. “The last time I saw Jason, he told me he had problems, though he didn’t want me to worry. He wanted to stop hustling. He wanted me to stop, too.” He pauses, gazing up at the ceiling. “I never asked what his problems were, and he never told me, but I wish I’d asked. Maybe then, his killer wouldn’t have blown his brains out in his own garage, although I try to see it as poetic justice.”

“You’re talking about Stockwell’s former partner?” Justin clarifies.

“Hmm,” Hunter nods. After a moment, he states, “I wish they’d caught Brian’s murderer.”

Justin looks away, whispering, “I wish they had, too.”

***

Hunter leaves to meet with his girlfriend shortly after their talk. Justin spends the rest of the evening catching up with Ben and Michael, until they realize it’s after two in the morning. When Michael offers that Justin can stay in their guestroom, the blond gladly accepts, texting his mom that he won’t be home until the next morning.

An hour later, Justin is lying on the bed, wide awake, replaying his conversation with Hunter. Realizing he won’t fall asleep until he’s eased his mind, he finally gets up, grabs his cell, and leaves the room.

He pauses outside Michael and Ben’s door, bypassing it when he hears a soft snoring coming from the room. Proceeding to Hunter’s room, he walks inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He then opens his phone and turns on the flashlight app, before heading toward Hunter’s closet, figuring it’s the most likely place to find Jason’s belongings.

He rifles through the hanging clothes, noticing a few boxes on the floor behind them. Kneeling down, he checks the boxes, his heart pounding faster as he sees one marked with Jason’s name. He retrieves it and exits the closet, sitting on the carpeted floor. He shines the flashlight on the box and carefully opens it, beginning to remove the items.

Half an hour later, he sighs, having found nothing. A few books are lying to one side, along with an old phone, a few clothes, a worn-out pair of sneakers, and a pocket knife. There is no charger, so Justin knows he won’t be able to check out the phone, provided it’s still functional. 

Frustrated, he again searches through the pockets of a pair of jeans, finding nothing new - just an empty pack of cigarettes, a couple matchbooks, a few old tickets, and a tarnished gold necklace. He repeats the process with one of the sweaters and is about to give up when he feels something odd. Frowning, he raises the piece of clothing and grabs his phone to see better, but he doesn’t discern anything. 

And yet, something’s there. As he scrunches the fabric in his fingers, he feels it again, something sewn inside - a tiny, very thin box, maybe an inch in length - an object no one would find if they didn’t know what to look for. 

Emboldened, Justin grabs the pocket knife and flips it open. He then uses the sharp blade to cut a small hole in the sweater, just large enough that he can slip a couple fingers inside. His fingers immediately close around the unknown object, and he retrieves it from its hiding place.

When Justin opens his hand, it takes him a few seconds to realize what he’s holding.

It’s a flash drive.

  
  
  
  
  



	18. A shocking discovery

**_Pittsburgh, Tuesday, July 28th, 3:45 a.m._ **

Justin quickly replaces all the items in the box and puts it back in the closet. His heart is thumping as he reaches the door and suddenly discerns light coming from the corridor, footsteps echoing down the stairs. Careful to wait long enough not to be spotted exiting Hunter’s room, he opens the door and quietly closes it behind him. 

He descends the stairs, his phone and the flash drive safely hidden in his sweatpants, and notices a dim light coming from the kitchen. When he reaches the first floor, he sees Michael standing in the kitchen, staring down, his hands braced on the sink. 

“Hey,” he calls out softly, trying his best to smile, rubbing his eyes.

“Justin?” Michael responds, surprised to see him. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“I just woke up,” Justin lies, entering the kitchen. “You?”

“I was thirsty,” Michael says, placing an empty glass in the sink. He seems tense for some reason. “You need anything?” Michael eventually asks.

“Actually,” Justin hesitates, “do you have a computer I could use? I can’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d check my email; I’m waiting for an important one and didn’t log in yesterday.” It’s bullshit, since he can open email on his phone, but Michael doesn’t know that.

Michael tilts his head to the side. “I can lend you Ben’s laptop.” He heads toward the front door and grabs a bag. Returning to Justin, he places the laptop on the counter. “Here… let me log you in.” He turns it on and waits for a few seconds, before typing on the keyboard and finally turning the screen toward Justin. “It’s ready.”

“Thanks,” Justin gives Michael a smile.

“I’m going back to sleep. Don’t stay awake too long if you ever want to get some rest. It’s already four. Ben and I should be up by seven.”

Justin nods, frowning as he watches Michael climb the stairs. The man’s behavior seemed off, but Justin shrugs it off as too little sleep, too preoccupied to care. 

Picking up the laptop, he carries it to the couch and sits, staring at the screen. 

He breathes deeply a couple of times, his heart racing in anticipation as he plugs the flash drive in. He has no idea what could be on it, or even why the police apparently didn’t find it when they checked Jason’s belongings after his murder. It seems unlikely that they would have missed the item, but Justin doesn’t really care how it happened. For all he knows, it may be nothing, but then, why would the hustler have so carefully secreted it away? 

The flash drive index pops up on the screen, revealing many folders with incomprehensible names. Justin opens the first, named ‘Project M’ and discovers several folders, listed by date. He clicks on the first - ‘M / Client List’ - and opens a file listed by a date and a number. It seems to be a medical report, or more accurately, medical information about a kidney transplant, personal data for the recipient, and the price for a transaction. Justin frowns as he tries to comprehend what he is looking at, with 220,000 dollars entered for a ‘transaction fee,’ and the donor designated by a number. Blood type, compatibility, and risks are also mentioned. 

Shaking his head, Justin closes the file and opens the next one. The medical report is pretty much the same, with the exception that it’s for a heart transplant rather than a kidney transplant. The transaction fee is also higher, at 350,000 dollars. Justin notices that the two medical reports concern the same donor, since the number indicated on the file is the same as the earlier one. 

On a hunch, Justin closes the folder. He clicks on ‘M - Data.’ He then moves to the next one, until his fingers freeze on the computer. The third folder, ‘M - Providers’ is about the donors. It reveals their identities, their professions, where they live. Justin’s eyes widen when he realizes one part of the document is about a ‘programmed death date,’ which always comes after the date the file was created.

Justin has a bad feeling about this, but just to be sure, he chooses the first file on the screen, reads the donor’s name, and quickly researches it online. There, he finds that the person mentioned in the file was killed in a car accident on the same date indicated on the flash drive as the ‘programmed death date.’ 

“Fuck,” Justin mutters, as he guesses what’s going on. He quickly looks at another donor and then another one, searching for the cause of death and the date. Each time, they died unexpectedly - hunting accident, car accident, sudden heart attack, etc. - on the date written on their files.

Justin continues to explore the flash drive. It seems every one of the fifty-three people listed as donors in the M - Providers folder was tested for transplant compatibility at least once in their life, since their medical records include the results. They came from all over the States. Justin opens another folder, and this time, he finds files about four surgeons. Each one contains details about their personal lives, where they were born, where they grew up and graduated from medical school, as well as shameful secrets and their past medical failures. One even had his medical license revoked a few years ago.

Justin studies every folder, opening all the files, putting together a pattern, before finally pausing as he closes one last file in ‘Project M’. Contemplating for a moment that he indeed possesses evidence about organ trafficking, he takes a deep breath and clicks back to the flash drive index, his eyes immediately drawn to the ‘Connections’ folder. He opens it and quickly realizes it contains compromising information about prominent Pittsburgh citizens - police officers, politicians, doctors, lawyers, judges, etc. Justin recognizes a few names, like Jim Stockwell, Kenneth Reichert, and Judge Roy.

“Jesus Christ.” Justin runs his hands through his hair in astonishment. He sighs and closes his eyes, inwardly debating about how to proceed. He has no idea how Jason Kemp obtained this flash drive or how to connect it to what has happened to Brian. Besides, the name of the person who orchestrated the trafficking is not mentioned anywhere.

Justin rubs his face, rolling his neck to get rid of the rigidity in his shoulders. He blinks and spends a few more minutes going through the names included in the Connections folder and their involvement in the trafficking - which are somewhat enigmatically designated by weird acronyms - realizing as he reads that organ trafficking probably is not the only thing included in the folder, but that he can’t decipher the meaning.

He then clicks on the video in the index, his exhausted brain not anticipating that it will be different from all the other files. So, when the image of Jason Kemp comes alive on the screen, the blond gasps and scoots back slightly on the couch.

“Hey,” the voice of the young hustler resonates in his ears, jolting him. He immediately lowers the volume, leaving it just loud enough to listen to the hustler’s declaration.

On the screen, Jason is fidgeting on a stool, his eyes darting right and left, resembling a scared animal ready to run at the first hint of danger. His hair is a mess. He’s thin. Justin doesn’t recognize the location and guesses it could be a room in one of the derelict, mostly abandoned buildings somewhere in the city. The paint on the walls surrounding Jason is peeling, and the cloudy sky can be faintly glimpsed through a grimy window.

“It’s Jason,” the hustler says, looking straight at the camera. “If you’re watching this, it means you found the flashdrive in the sweater. And that you know about the organ traffick-” He suddenly tenses as a sound is heard in the background. He stands up, disappearing from the screen, his steps echoing on the tile floor. After a few seconds, he sits back down, his gaze fixed on a spot in the distance, his voice shaking as he declares, “I fear for my life…” He pauses, rubbing his hands together in his lap, and stares back at the camera. “I don’t want to die.”

Justin feels his heart break a little at the pleading tone in the teenager’s voice. He watches the nine-minute video. It eventually goes black, and Justin closes the laptop, staying on the couch without moving. He’s crying, although he doesn’t realize it. 

When he hears someone stirring upstairs, indicating it’s already close to seven, he wipes his face on the sleeve of his tee. He removes the flash drive from the computer and powers it down, forcing a smile onto his face as Ben descends the stairs.

***

**_Lakevallée, a few hours later, 10:10 a.m…_ **

As soon as Milton confirms Connor will be at the hotel all morning, Gabriel excuses himself, claiming that a client has just arrived. He hangs up and lets his head fall back against the headrest.

“What, now?” Brian asks quizzically when his friend doesn’t move from the driver’s seat. 

“Now, we search for the key.” Gabriel responds, Brian’s question apparently prompting him to take action. He opens the door of the pickup.

Brian follows his lead and steps out of the vehicle. Glancing around, he sees only the lake and trees. Connor’s house is almost as isolated as the chalet, although the nearest neighbors are barely ninety feet away, one of their windows facing the side of his house, which is hidden by a pine. 

Gabriel has gone to the front door, and is sweeping the area around it with his hands.

“You think he’s hidden a key somewhere?” Brian inquires, puzzled. 

“I hope so,” Gabriel raises the doormat, before feeling around beneath a bush next to the door. “If not, we’ll break the window.”

“Nice,” Brian deadpans. When Gabriel glares at him, he smirks, asking, “What?” 

“Thanks for helping,” Gabriel mutters, rolling his eyes.

“You really expect Connor to be so dumb as to place a key by the front door, especially if he’s in trouble?” Brian demands, tilting his head.

Gabriel narrows his eyes at him. “You have a better idea?”

“Hmm,” Brian frowns. “What about the back door?”

Gabriel seems to think that’s a possibility, since he strides around the house. Brian follows him a couple of minutes later, when he hears his friend yell, “Found it!”

“Where was it?” Brian questions.

Gabriel actually chuckles. “You don’t want to know, believe me.”

“Why don’t I…” Brian starts, before grimacing. “What is that smell? It fucking stinks.”

“Again, you don’t want to know.” Gabriel enunciates as he slides a maroon-tinted key into the lock on the back door. His hands are also a questionable color. Brian peers around, stepping back a couple of feet, soon noticing the bucket under a pine tree.

He bursts out laughing, “Christ, the fucking point of having a spare key is for people you trust to use it. Not to play a prank on them by having them plunge their hands into shit.” 

“Connor would argue that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” Gabriel counters, turning the handle. “And that only his real friends would be able to find the key.”

Brian snorts. “Well, he’s not entirely wrong on that one. Who except you could ever understand his twisted mind?”

“Let’s go inside,” Gabriel doesn’t bother with a retort, pushing the door open and stepping into a small mudroom. To their right is a laundry area. They march past it and reach the living room. 

“Wash your hands,” Brian instructs as soon as they walk in, indicating the kitchen. “You don’t want to leave evidence of our charming visit.”

Gabriel walks to the sink, quickly washing and drying his hands. “Kay,” he mutters, turning to look at Brian. 

Brian heads down the corridor leading to Connor’s office, knowing Justin saw the painting there almost a week ago, and that the office is behind one of two doors.

A moment later, both he and Gabriel are standing in the middle of a small room where the walls are surprisingly bare of any art. A desk is next to the window, facing the door and taking up most of the space.

“Where is it?” Brian inquires, briefly wondering if Connor could have taken down the paintings he showed Justin.

“Here,” Brian hears Gabriel breathe. He watches as his friend retrieves a couple of paintings from a gap between a bookshelf and the wall.

Gabriel props both canvases against the shelf and steps back, returning to stand next to Brian, his eyes never leaving the painting on the left. Strangely, it’s not ‘Emerald Darkness,’ the one Brian thought his friend would inspect first. For some reason, Gabriel can’t detach his eyes from the other one.

Brian has to admit the painting is astonishing. It’s brilliant, vibrant, and though Brian isn’t an expert, he knows how good it is. He sometimes has a hard time reconciling that a man as sarcastic and antisocial as Connor can create such mesmerizing canvases. 

Gabriel is still in some kind of trance, and Brian suddenly realizes what it means. “Is that…” he asks, gesturing at the painting.

“Yeah…” Gabriel responds. “It’s the painting he made for me and showed at his first exhibition. Before I left.”

“Hmm.” Brian bites his lip, imagining how hurt Connor must have felt, considering the canvas is an obvious declaration of love. It’s actually astounding that he forgave Gabriel at all. “Your timing sucked.” Brian half quips, staring at the red and white strokes surrounding two entwined silhouettes.

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gabriel replies. “When he showed me his painting after I came back from my first year at college, he was so proud.” He remembers, a soft smile on his lips, “He had it all planned. He picked me up at my house, brought me to the gallery, and spent the whole evening suppressing a grin. I’d never seen him so happy before. I kept teasing him about loving the attention and being thrilled that he could finally show off in front of all the stupid Kevins and Julias in the town. And then it all changed when he allowed me to see this,” his face sobers up as he gestures at the painting, “and kissed me.”

“And you left right after?” Brian questions.

Gabriel snorts, the tone of his voice conveying exactly what he thinks about his nineteen-year-old self. “I didn’t leave. I  _ ran _ .” he clarifies dryly. 

Brian nods absently, thinking about Michael. “My best friend had a crush on me, even though unlike you, I always knew I would never love him that way.” he volunteers. “It never stopped me from stringing him along, blowing hot and cold. I was such an ass to him.”

“What happened?” Gabriel inquires, Brian understanding he is questioning their estrangement.

For once, Brian is happy he can’t respond, remembering his relationship with Michael causing a deep tightening in his chest. He shrugs, explaining, “We grew up.” and takes a couple of steps toward the painting they’re here to check, effectively redirecting their conversation, “So, it’s the same painting?”

Gabriel sighs, his eyes darting to ‘Emerald Darkness.’ He walks over and kneels in front of it, his fingers carefully grazing the surface. He doesn’t have to say it out loud for Brian to understand his suspicions have unfortunately been confirmed. The look on his face says it all.

Brian doesn’t say anything, instead letting his friend process that Connor has forged a painting. His gaze lands on the desk, where a large stack of paper rests. Approaching, he starts looking through it, more to give Gabriel some space than because he thinks he will discover anything. 

He doesn’t have the time to flip through more than a few pages when he hears a clicking noise. Turning around, he realizes his friend has just taken a picture of the painting with his phone. 

“Let’s go,” Gabriel orders. It seems like he can’t leave that room fast enough.

Brian drops the papers back onto the desk, unaware that if he had studied them a little longer, he would have found an article about a man murdered in a Pittsburgh alley, eight years ago.

***

**_Pittsburgh, a couple of hours earlier_ **

Justin is quite shaken, but as Michael and Ben join him, he does all he can to act as if he hasn’t spent the last couple of hours looking at the most disturbing thing he’s ever seen. Claiming he must be coming down with something to explain his shitty appearance, he leaves Michael and Ben’s house shortly after that, pretending he needs to meet with his mother before she leaves for work. 

He knows he can’t keep silent about his discovery, but he doesn’t know who to trust. He’s been walking around for half an hour in an attempt to clear his mind and is two blocks away from Debbie’s when he figures out what to do. He could go directly to the precinct but, paranoid about Malone’s influence in the police force, doesn’t want to take the chance.

“Sunshine?” Debbie opens the door a couple of minutes later.

“Hi, Deb,” Justin gives her a smile. “I knew you weren’t working, so I thought I’d stop by. I need a favor.”

“Come in,” Debbie urges, her interest piqued. “You eaten breakfast yet?”

“No,” Justin answers as he enters the house and looks around, remembering the numerous times he’s been here. Blinking, he follows Debbie to the kitchen and sits at the table.

“Let me fix you something,” Debbie eagerly offers, immediately taking a pan from a cabinet.

“Deb, you don’t have to…” Justin begins, although he knows she will cook no matter what. He just hopes she won’t serve him a dozen pancakes and expect him to eat them all. His stomach is so tied up in knots that he isn’t sure he can eat anything.

“Scrambled eggs with toast sound good?” Debbie interrupts his thoughts. 

“It does,” Justin responds. He wishes he could just ask what he needs to and leave. “So…”

She pours some hot coffee into a cup and plunks it down in front of him. “Here. You look like you need this.”

“Thanks,” Justin grabs the mug, his hands shaking a little. He clears his throat and blurts out, “I was wondering if you have that detective’s number.”

“You mean Horvath?” Debbie questions, surprised. At Justin’s nod, she walks over to the wall phone and scrolls through the contacts. “Why do you need to contact him?” 

“I’d prefer not to say,” Justin shrugs, doing his best to appear nonchalant. 

Debbie narrows his eyes at him. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“What? No,” Justin denies. “I just have a question about a private matter, and since Michael mentioned he was regularly eating at the diner, I thought I could ask him.”

Justin isn’t sure Debbie believes him, but she doesn’t push. She simply jots down the number on a piece of paper and hands it to him. “Here’s his number,” she informs him. “Tell him you’re calling on my behalf and that if he doesn’t help you, he won’t be served at the diner for the next six months, but that I still expect his ass on that green stool every Friday at seven-fifteen sharp.”

Justin chuckles at Debbie’s logic, standing up to place a kiss on her check. “Thanks, Deb.”

Debbie seems to forget all about the detective as she commands, “Now, sit. Your scrambled eggs will be ready in a few.” and returns to the stove.

*** 

It takes Justin thirty-five minutes to escape. As soon as Debbie closes the door behind him, he strides away, grabbing his phone and dialing the number the waitress gave him.

“Horvath,” the detective picks up, his greeting curt.

Justin is about to introduce himself when he hears a background announcement, directing passengers for the flight to Billings to proceed to gate twenty-one. Frowning, he realizes Horvath is about to board a plane, which must mean he’s going to Lakevallée to see Brian. But why? Does that means he knows about Justin discovering Liam’s real identity? If so, is he going to relocate Brian? 

Panic overwhelms him and, for a moment, Justin can’t speak. 

“Hello?” Horvath repeats when Justin doesn’t say anything.

Justin considers ending the call immediately but, instead, takes a deep breath, forcing himself to think rationally. He remembers Brian trusts the detective, and that even though Justin wants to protect his relationship with the brunet at all costs, he needs to share what he has found. He can’t keep quiet, possibly endangering more people, when he possesses the one thing that could stop Malone. So, controlling his anxiety, he calls out, “Detective? Justin Taylor speaking. I’m calling you regarding a flash drive I found that...” Suddenly, all he can hear is white noise. “Hello? Hello?”

The call has been disconnected. Frustrated, Justin peers at his cell, wondering what is going on. He tries to call back a couple of times, but each time, the call ends before he reaches the detective’s voicemail. 

Confused, Justin gives up and continues walking, warily eyeing the other pedestrians, feeling paranoid about the reason Horvath didn’t answer. He sees the world in a new light now - a world where money and insanity have turned men into inhuman creatures, willing to sacrifice anyone who interferes with their nefarious goals, turning them into disposable inconveniences. Justin has always known that darkness exists. He’s known, but he has never confronted it firsthand before. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, distracting him from his sullen musings. Frowning, he peers at the display and sees a new message from Brian, asking him to ‘come back ASAP.’

“What the fuck?” Justin questions, halting in the middle of the sidewalk. It can’t be a coincidence, not right after he tried to speak with Horvath. Something is definitely going on, especially if Brian is willing to risk his returning to Lakevallée so soon after he left. Horvath must be worried that Brian’s cover has been endangered and is probably traveling there to assess the situation.

Justin can’t take the chance of losing Brian again. 

Three hours later, he is on the next plane to Billings, unaware that Brian didn’t send the message.

  
  



	19. The letter

 

**_Billings, Tuesday, July 28th, 5:05 p.m._ **

Carl is standing at the Hertz counter, waiting for the salesman to finish entering his details and process his payment, so that he can claim his rental and depart. He was supposed to join Bennett in questioning Connor Decunn’s mother at seven, but his plane was delayed, meaning Jacquie will have to speak with the hotelier on her own.

So far, they haven’t found anything conclusive regarding Connor Decunn. The man is an only child who has never left his hometown in Montana and yet has become quite famous as a painter. He’s single, pretty much a loner, although Carl knows Brian bonded with Decunn after settling in Lakevallée. That makes his request to look into the painter’s life quite bizarre, especially since Brian refuses to share his suspicions. Whatever he is holding back, Carl hopes this visit will help him understand what’s going on.

To top it all, Jacquie is certain Justin recognized Brian. When she called Carl on Saturday night to share her misgivings after she visited their protectee, Carl convinced her to keep quiet and wait for him to assess the situation. He also solicited Jacquie’s help regarding Decunn, persuading her not to inform her boss about either matter. Knowing Gavin Allen like he does, Carl has no doubt that as soon as he hears Brian’s identity has been compromised, the FBI agent will order that he be removed from Lakevallée. Carl doesn’t want to think about Brian’s reaction to again starting over and intends to do everything possible to keep that from happening.

“Here,” the salesman places a set of keys and a couple of forms on the counter. “Your car is ready, slot 37, parking area A. You just have to sign these, and you’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” Carl nods, using the pen affixed to the counter to sign the required forms. 

Grabbing the keys, he is ready to leave when the guy enthuses, “Have a great day, sir! Thanks for choosing Hertz to travel the roads of America!” 

Carl grunts, “Goodbye,” before walking out the door. 

As he heads outside, Carl looks around, following the signs to the rental car area. 

He wonders again who called him while he was waiting for his flight. The call ended before he could get the man’s name, and whoever it was didn’t call back. 

He arrives at A37, where a black Chevrolet awaits him. Using the key fob, he unlocks it and places his luggage inside, the noise of the trunk slamming shut echoing loudly.

***

**_Lakevallée, 7:05 p.m_ **

Gabriel and Liam have agreed to meet at the chalet after work, to talk about their escapade at Connor’s house. Gabriel really doesn’t know how to act on what they discovered. Maybe confronting Connor would help, but the blond needs to think it through before doing anything. The situation is complicated enough as it is.

Gabriel parks his pickup near the chalet and lets the motor run for a few seconds. Then he kills the ignition and exits the car, his feet crunching on the ground.

Marching toward the porch, he’s not surprised to find Liam sitting outside. “Hey.”

Liam gazes at him. “Hey,” he echoes Gabriel’s greeting before taking a sip from his glass and indicating the empty place on the bench.

Gabriel sits down next to Liam, leaning forward. He rubs his face.

“Tough day, huh?” Liam offers. 

Gabriel gazes at him, noticing how tired he looks. “Have you heard anything from Justin?” he asks, not quite ready to talk about what he really is here for.

“Justin? No.” 

Gabriel debates interrogating his friend about the nature of his relationship with the artist and finally inquires, “What happened between you two?”

“What do you mean?” Liam counters, Gabriel sensing Liam is not willing to confide in him.

“I don’t know. You two seemed… close.”

“Justin is a good guy. But he has his life in Philly and I have mine. Here.” Liam shrugs, putting an end to Gabriel’s inquiry. “So, have you thought about what you want to do regarding Connor?” 

Gabriel shakes his head. “I have no clue what to do.”

“Maybe you should wait,” Liam surprisingly declares.

“Wait?” Gabriel repeats. 

Liam nods. “We don’t know why Connor forged his own painting, but it’s not like we have proof he did it with another painter’s work.”

“That we know of,” Gabriel reminds Liam. “You saw the painting. This afternoon, I took the time to compare the photo to the picture I have in my office, and it’s exactly  - and I mean,  _ exactly _ \- the same as the one exhibited in Portland. It’s a perfect replica, in every detail, line, stroke…” 

Talking about it makes Gabriel really nervous, truthfully. God only knows what Connor could be involved in if he does create forgeries. Does he work on commission? Is he involved in a larger scheme? It would explain Connor’s recent behavior. 

Refusing to freak out completely, he shares, “If Connor is able to do that, it can only mean he’s even more gifted that I thought and, unfortunately, it’s not a good thing.”

Liam thinks it through. He stays silent for a few seconds, before stating, “Maybe we should have broken into his studio, then.” 

“I’ve thought about that,” Gabriel responds. “It makes sense that he’d hide forgeries there. Connor is so adamant about not showing his studio to anyone. I never thought twice about it before since, well, it’s Connor…”

“We need to know if your theory is correct.”

“You want to get involved in busting him?” Gabriel asks. 

“I’m already involved,” Liam replies, the tone of his voice making the gallery owner pause. “You’re my… friend after all. I’m not going to let you deal with Connor on your own. And...” he hesitates, before adding “...as much as I hate to admit it, I’m worried about him.”

Gabriel’s lips turn upward. “Since when are you so demonstrative of your feelings?”

“Fuck you.” Liam pushes his shoulder. 

Gabriel can’t suppress a warm feeling  at Liam’s declaration. 

They stay silent for a little while, both men lost in their own thoughts. Ultimately, Gabriel announces, “So, you’re in the mood to pay a visit to our resident pain in the ass?”

Liam peers at him, the a small smile playing on his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

***

**_A few minutes earlier, Decunn hotel…_ **

Jacquie Bennett maneuvers her car, gazing around the parking lot usually reserved for guests. She sees a couple walking up the stairs to the main entrance but, other than that, the area is deserted. Turning off the rental and glancing at her watch, she notices it’s barely seven p.m. which means most of the guests are probably eating dinner. She then picks up her phone and dials Carl’s number.

“Horvath,” the detective answers after a couple of rings. Jacquie can hear road noise in the background, indicating Carl is still driving.

“I’m here,” Jacquie informs him. “Where are you?”

“My plane was delayed so I’m running late.” Carl replies, obviously a little peeved.

“Should I wait for you or do you want me to meet with Mrs. Decunn now?” Jacquie questions. 

“No, go ahead. I won’t be there for another hour at the least.” Carl notifies her. “You have everything you need?”

“Yes,” Jacquie responds, picking up the fake press card from the dashboard. “I’m officially Alison Parks, a reporter for Plein Air Magazine and working on a paper on rising painters in Montana.”

“Good,” Carl says. “We definitely don’t need anyone in town knowing the FBI is investigating inhabitants.”

“To say the least,” Jacquie concurs. 

“Good luck then,” Carl wishes her. “I’ll meet you at the safe house in an hour or so.” 

“Kay,” Jacquie agrees. “Later.” She hangs up without waiting for his reply. Leaning back in her seat, she looks at the card, fidgeting with it for a few seconds, before peering down at the passenger seat and grabbing the folder she placed there earlier. She opens it, wanting to study the info she has collected on Connor Decunn one last time.

His picture is the first item in the file, along with a copy of his birth certificate. So far, she and Carl haven’t discovered anything new about Lakevallée’s most famous painter. Connor is an only child who was raised by his single mother, a woman who has spent her life in her birthplace, taking over the hotel her parents passed on to her. Mary Elizabeth Decunn has never married, and Connor’s birth certificate doesn’t indicate who his father is. That info is probably irrelevant to the case anyway, and Jacquie knows questioning Mrs. Decunn will probably be a dead end, but it’s worth a shot. 

Connor Decunn has no record and appears to live a simple life between his job at the hotel and his art. The FBI agent is a little puzzled that Brian asked Carl to dig into the painter’s past more thoroughly, but since he did, it means Connor could be connected to their case. How, though, is yet to be determined, considering Lakevallée is not exactly known for its famous painters, making it unlikely that Connor Decunn is one of Malone’s pawns. Sure, the annual photography exhibition gets a lot of recognition in the art scene and could theoretically draw the attention of an art trafficker, but there are not a lot of painters around. Writers and photographers are more representative of the area which, as far as Jacquie knows, doesn’t quite match Malone’s interests.

Jacquie finally closes the folder, placing it out of sight before exiting the car. She heads for the entrance and enters the lobby, noticing an elderly woman standing behind the front desk. As she approaches, she sweeps the area to make sure nobody is around, coming to a halt at the reception desk.

“Good evening, madam. May I help you?” the woman inquires with a smile.

“I’m looking for Mary-Elizabeth Decunn,” Jacquie informs her, flashing the fake identification card. “I’m Alison Parks, with Plein Air magazine. We’re doing an article on emerging painters from Montana for our special edition next September.”

“I’m Ms. Decunn,” Mary-Elizebeth Decunn responds, appearing a little guarded. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jacquie smiles broadly. 

Mary-Elizabeth’s lips turn upward as she inquires, “You’re doing a story on my son?”

“He will be featured in the article, yes,” Jacquie easily lies. “That’s why I traveled here. I hope to meet him, but I also want to talk to his relatives, since I know from experience they usually have information that helps me get a better grasp of the person as an artist.”

“That’s nice of you although, knowing my son, I’m not sure he will be your best interview subject. He is… quite a difficult man.” Mary-Elizabeth confesses.

“All the more reason for me to interview you,” Jacquie insists. “Would you agree to answer a couple of questions? Show me some of his work, some he drew when he was a child, perhaps? I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

“Now?” Mary-Elizabeth questions. 

“If you don’t mind, of course,” Jacquie requests.

“I… well,” Mary-Elizabeth peers at her watch. “I guess I can take a few minutes to answer your questions. Should we go to my office? We’ll be more comfortable there.” she proposes, waving at a man entering the lobby. “Milton? Would you mind staying at the front desk for a little while?”

“Not at all,” Milton approaches them. “Good evening, madam,” he politely greets Jacquie.

“Good evening,” Jacquie returns the greeting as Milton goes around the desk to replace Mary-Elizabeth.

“Please, follow me,” Mary-Elizabeth gestures toward an area past the front desk. Jacquie follows her as she leads the way to her office. “Please take a seat,” Mary-Elizabeth indicates a chair in front of her desk a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” Jacquie sits in the Voltaire chair, admiring the elegant room. “This is a special place you’re managing here.”

“It is,” Mary-Elizabeth concurs. “It’s been in my family for years. Connor says it’s an antiquity.”

“You’re close to your son?” Jacquie interrogates, taking a notepad and a pencil from the pocket of her jacket.

“I am,” Mary-Elizabeth confirms. “We have to be close when we only have each other.”

“You mean, you raised him on your own?” Jacquie inquires, even though she already knows the answer.

“Unfortunately, yes. His father died when Connor was a baby.”

“Hmm,” Jacquie nods, noting Mary-Elizabeth’s response, knowing for a fact that it isn’t true since no father is mentioned on Connor’s birth certificate. “It must have been tough.”

“It wasn’t always easy,” Mary-Elizabeth agrees. 

Jacquie notices the stiffness in her shoulders, and realizes there is more to the story than she knows. Understanding that keeping to this line of questioning is not going to help, however, she makes a mental note to more thoroughly investigate Connor’s father later. 

“So, what was your son like as a child?”

“Well, he was a special kid.” Mary-Elizabeth laughs, obviously having fond memories from that time in her son’s life. “He’s never had a lot of friends - except for Gabriel Harrington, who is now the owner of the gallery downtown, although their relationship is not what it used to be. Connor has always been more of a loner, but he was a sweet kid.”

Jacquie notes down Gabriel Harrington’s name on her pad. Having checked out the man when Brian bonded with him a couple of years ago - they had pretty much investigated every inhabitant connected to Brian when he started his new life in Lakevallée - Jacquie is aware the man was Connor’s best friend growing up, but that they had a falling out more than a decade ago. 

“Connor started drawing when he was three, four maybe?” Mary-Elizabeth continues. “I remember him mixing colors for hours at end. He doodled a lot growing up and spent a lot of time alone, lost in his own world. But if you ask him, he will deny he was ever that passionate and tell you he now paints solely because having that talent makes other people jealous.”

Jacquie smiles at that explanation, while writing ‘lonely kid.’ “He has a witty mind.”

“He most definitely does,” Mary Elizabeth agrees. Then, she unexpectedly declares, “I’m not sure he will agree to be featured in your article, though.”

Jacquie frowns. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Connor doesn’t care about being known as an artist. And painting is not…” Mary-Elizabeth’s voice trails off as her gaze lands on the photo of her son, which is displayed on her desk. Peering up at Jacquie, she resumes, “Lately, I feel like it makes him miserable, which makes no sense when you have his talent and spend most of your day locked up in a studio.”

“Why does he keep painting then?” Jacquie questions, jotting a few words on her notepad. What Mary-Elizabeth is describing really doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Brian has mentioned in the past that Connor is a sarcastic, taciturn man, although a very talented painter. Yet, if the guy is really as miserable as his mother claims, Jacquie should look into the reason he keeps painting when he doesn’t want to. 

“I’m not sure… probably because this is all he knows?” Mary-Elizabeth eventually replies, before nervously pleading, “Please, don’t use this for your article, though. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, of course I won’t,” Jacquie quickly cuts her off, the woman’s anxiety coming off her in waves. “The point of the article is to present the artists in a positive way, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Mary-Elizabeth relaxes instantly. “Thank you,” she says, grateful for Jacquie’s understanding. She takes a deep breath and stands up, declaring, “I could use a cup of tea. Do you want anything? A glass of water, perhaps?”

“A cup of tea would be great, thank you,” Jacquie accepts with a smile, watching Mary-Elizabeth walk around her desk.

“I’ll be right back,” the elderly woman promises as she reaches the door.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jacquie replies, leaning back in her chair to follow Mary-Elizabeth’s retreat. When the echo of her heels fades away, the Afro-American woman immediately stands up and strides around the desk, peering at the few papers scattered on the wooden surface. 

When she doesn’t see more than a couple of bills and an accounting book, she starts to fumble through the drawers of the desk. She isn’t sure what she’s looking for. There are papers, bills, and a lot of files relating to the hotel. Jacquie knows she doesn’t have much time, so she overlooks most of the files - snapping pictures of a couple of them concerning the property deed, even though it’s most likely irrelevant. 

She is about to give up when she comes upon a box in the bottom of the lowest drawer. Extracting the box, she places it on the desk, praying it won’t be locked.

It’s not, the lid flipping up smoothly. Inside is a single letter, stamped “return to sender.” Jacquie takes it in her hands and examines it, realizing from the addresses on the front and the back that it’s a letter from Elizabeth to a man named Richard, dated from November 1975. On a hunch, Jacquie removes the two pieces of paper inside - the letter from Elizabeth was apparently received and sent back with a response attached to it - and snaps a picture of both of them, before slipping them back inside. She then photographs the envelope and replaces it in the box, which she slides back into the drawer. 

She has barely returned to her seat when Mary-Elizabeth joins her again, holding a tray with two cups of tea.

***

**_Twenty minutes later_ **

Jacquie slides behind the wheel of her rental. Reviewing her conversation with Mary-Elizabeth Decunn, she acknowledges that she hasn’t learned much more than she already knew and isn’t sure what to do now. Picking up her phone from her pocket, she searches for the pictures she took while she was alone in Mary-Elizabeth Decunn’s office. 

She bypasses the images of the property deed and stops on the first letter she photographed. It’s from a younger Mary-Elizabeth Decunn to a man who appears to be Connor’s father - a man named Richard - and reveals she is pregnant with his child. Her writing shows Mary-Elizabeth apparently had deep feelings for the man, and Jacquie can’t help but feel like an intruder as she reads the heartfelt words written on the page. 

The second letter reflects none of the feelings Mary-Elizabeth expressed. The response is cold, Richard drily informing his former lover that he is married and that they therefore have no future, concluding that the child - the  _ bastard _ \- will bear no place in his life. 

“Fucking jerk,” Jacquie mumbles as she selects the final picture. 

She stares at the man’s last name and at the location indicated on the envelope for a few seconds. The name is familiar. In fact, she knows someone whose father had the exact same one, although it must be a coincidence. 

Or maybe not. “What the…” she intones, realizing the person she is thinking about grew up in Clinton, New Jersey, which is the exact town indicated on the letter. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaims. 

Flabbergasted, she enters the name of Connor’s father on her phone, as well as the location. She quickly finds an article revealing that Richard died in a car accident twenty miles outside Lakevallée, in August 1980. 

The photo accompanying the article shows a middle-aged man with his wife and his  _ son _ .

“No way,” Jacquie breathes out, completely astounded as she recognizes the teenager. Shaking her head, she immediately dials Carl’s number.

“Horvath,” Carl answers.

“I…” Jacquie answers, trying to comprehend what she just discovered. It doesn’t make any sense. “Connor Decunn has a brother. A half-brother.”

“What?” Horvath exclaims. “Who?”

“It’s my boss,” Jacquie reveals. “It’s Gavin Allen.”

  
  
  



	20. Jason’s testimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: In case violence is a trigger for you, please be aware that the next three chapters contain graphic depictions of violence.

**_Tuesday, July 28th, 7:30 p.m._ **

Justin is on his way to Lakevallée, driving too fast, trying to control his desperate urge to get to Brian. After deplaning at 6:10 p.m, he tried calling Detective Horvath a couple more times but didn’t succeed in reaching him. He also tried to call Brian, but again, the call failed to connect. He hasn’t slept for more than a day and should be exhausted, but he is too stressed out to rest. He keeps seeing Jason’s eyes, keeps hearing his desperate words. He sees Brian’s face, too, a myriad of possibilities turning around in his head as he thinks about the homicidal maniac who took Jason’s life.

If Carl has flown to Billings to relocate Brian - like Justin thinks he has - the blond needs to get to Lakevallée before it’s too late. Besides, with the flash drive Carl will be able to act. It contains all the evidence the FBI needs, the connections, the proof of organ trafficking, the names of the persons involved, the files explaining who was killed so rich individuals could live.

And it also contains Jason’s last testimony - the irrefutable proof that Harry Malone is a sick motherfucker.

_ *** _

_ “I don’t want to die.”  _

Jason explained everything that led up to his death in the video that Justin had watched. For the young hustler, it all started with a random encounter on Liberty Avenue. It ended with a death sentence, since he saw something he shouldn’t have and stole a flash drive he should have left behind. 

_ “I met this guy a couple of days ago,” _ Jason revealed in the video.  _ “He offered to pay me six hundred bucks if I agreed to go to a party with him. So I went.” _

Justin remembers how pale the hustler’s face looked as he spoke.

_ “The place was huge and damned impressive - one of those isolated houses on the outskirts of the city that you can’t see from the road, hidden in the middle of nowhere, with a single drive secured by a tall gate - so I knew whoever owned it must be someone important. When we arrived, I saw a lot of cars parked outside. Inside, people were milling around: men, women, all there to party and even some who were having sex out in the open. Booze, drugs - ecstasy, cocaine, crystal, you name it - were flowing. I stayed with my client for a while. I took some E, and then we went upstairs to fuck. I gave him a blowjob and he fucked me twice before he fell asleep. And me? I wanted to pee. Fuck... I just wanted to pee.”  _

Jason paused, briefly burying his face in his hands. Staring back at the camera, he took a deep breath before continuing,  _ “The music was still loud even though it was late, and I looked for an upstairs bathroom, but the one I found was occupied by a couple fucking. So I went downstairs and along a corridor leading to the other aisle of the house, thinking other people wouldn’t have gone there and that I would be able to find a free bathroom... but the place... was so fucking huge, you know? I got lost.” _

A dry laugh escaped Jason’s lips. _ “That’s when I heard a scream coming from under my feet. And because I’m totally stupid, I didn’t turn away.”  _ He looked paler as he remembered, chastising himself, _ “Shit, why the fuck did I stay?” _

His face twisted into a pained grimace. For an instant, Justin had thought Jason wouldn’t be able to continue, but the hustler eventually resumed,  _ “I found the door to the basement and went down the stairs… I’m not sure why I kept going... The screams got louder, so yeah... I walked toward… I… When I reached the bottom floor, everything around me was dark, except for a dim light coming from a door on the other side of the space. The door was ajar. Nobody in that room could see me in the dark, so I approached, and that’s when... I saw that guy. He was tied up in a chair, facing three men. He was... covered in blood, repeating the word “Please” again and again.” _

Jason breathed out the last word, his voice breaking a little more. He was crying now.  _ “I noticed right away who the guy in charge was. He was tall, thin, wearing a… a fedora, and he had the kind of suit only big money can buy, and he should have been… handsome, you know? But he looked… he looked crazy to me. He had this bland look on his face, and a… creepy smirk, not an obvious one, just… he… he acted like he was having a barbecue or something.” _

Jason paused at that point, frantically wiping the tears from his eyes. Justin remembers thinking that the hustler looked younger than his age, his eyes darting from the camera to an unseen spot.  _ “At first, I didn’t understand what the psycho was saying, talking about how it wasn’t acceptable to deprive people of what they wanted - that a doctor’s duty was to operate on his patients, not to rat on the guy who paid him big money to do his job.”  _ Jason muttered almost inaudibly, “ _ The man tied up in the chair said his name. Malone. Then, he called him Harry, and he kept… he kept begging for his life, repeating that he couldn’t do this anymore, not when he knew people were chosen and killed to save those patients. And he begged some more. But Malone didn’t care. He said something to one of the guys who was standing by his side, and that’s when I saw the… the knife and understood the guy was going to... die.” _

Justin had felt a wave of nausea hitting him as he helplessly watched the hustler’s confession.  _ “I mean, it was really happening.”  _ Jason continued, stammering, _ “I… I wanted to do something, I swear. I couldn't… let a man be killed in front of me. But I… I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the floor. I was… shaking. Yeah, I… I remember I’ve never shaken like that before. I don’t even know why I’m… remembering this now.”  _

_ “And then... it was too late.”  _ Jason said in a whisper, fresh tears falling from his eyes, although he didn’t even notice. _ “Malone raised the knife and stabbed the blade into the guy’s gut. In his fucking gut. He did it slowly. It was… he was enjoying it… he smiled, for Chrissake ! And watched the guy suffocate on his own blood.” _

At that point, Justin had briefly paused the video. Imagining the scene was excruciating. He’d known Malone was dangerous, but hearing Jason’s story and seeing the terror in the sixteen-year-old boy’s eyes as he described the murder were not the same thing. 

The blond couldn’t help but think that it could have been Hunter in that basement, instead of Jason. 

_ “I almost… cried out. ”  _ Jason had reappeared on the screen when Justin pressed play again. _ “I remember fumbling my way up the stairs, praying they wouldn’t hear me. I just wanted to hide, disappear. I was pretty sure they didn’t see me, but… fuck. I needed to hide. I couldn't think, and I couldn't find my way out, so I ended up in another room. It was an office. I waited, tried to drag my feet out of there, but I was… terrified they would find me, so I hid behind the desk.” _

_ “I don’t know how long I stayed hidden there. I don’t remember much from being in that room, but there was a laptop on the desk and I somehow ended up checking it, instead of leaving as fast as I could. Who does that, huh?”  _ Jason lamented, nervously passing his hand through his hair. _ “The screen was locked. I see myself clicking on that fucking mouse again and again because of that fucking image running through my head of that guy dying, although it was fucking locked. But there was a flash drive plugged into the laptop. So I took it.” _

_ “I didn’t think.”  _ Jason confessed.  _ “I never meant to steal from Harry Malone. But I did. I did and now, I’m fucked. I don’t know if he knows about me, but I’m pretty sure I saw a camera when I finally came to my senses and ran out of there. And I… it’s… I can’t… go to the police. I’m a whore, Hunter. Cops don’t trust whores and I don’t trust them. I don’t know who to trust anymore. And Malone is… It’s too much.” _

_ “Hunter, if you’re watching this, it means you found the flash drive in the sweater I gave you today. There is a file about the guy who was killed. His name is Dr. Oliver Barns. He is… was... a transplant specialist. It’s the…”  _ Jason checked his cell phone _. “the twentieth of October. Maybe you’ll know what to do.” _

That was when Justin understood why the police had never found the flash drive. Jason had given the sweater with the hidden evidence of Malone’s trafficking to Hunter before he was killed, hoping his friend would discover it. It was never in the possession of the police, which is a blessing, retrospectively, since Malone’s influence within the police force has been proved since then. Hunter never found the flash drive, however. Justin assumes he put aside all of Jason’s belongings, including the sweater, after the hustler’s death, probably too overwhelmed by his grief to ever go through his friend’s things again.

_ “Forgive me,”  _ Jason pleaded, addressing Hunter. _ “I should have told you everything. I just… I didn’t want to put you in danger, but if anything happens to me… I… I can’t let the evidence I have disappear. I have a copy of the files on me, but if I…”  _ Jason stopped talking for a few seconds, unable to control himself. 

_ “Fuck, I don’t want to die.”  _ Jason broke down and, with one last desperate look at the camera, abruptly shut down the video.

***

**_Same time, Connor’s house_ **

Connor is sitting on the couch, fiddling with a knife. He watches the blade shine in the reflection of the light from a lamp on the end table. He approaches his wrist with it, placing the blade against the skin. It would be so easy.

His eyes dart toward the picture he set on the sofa earlier, showing two teenage boys smiling at the camera. They seem so carefree. Even he looks happy, which he doesn’t remember ever being. He did feel something close, though, when he was younger and caught Gabriel staring at him with that fond look on his face or when his friend smiled at him.

He questions why he has kept this memento of the two of them, why he didn’t destroy it. It makes everything so much harder, somehow. He received a call thirty minutes ago informing him that  _ he  _ was coming, that things will end soon, whatever that means. Connor is scared shitless. He also feels like an asshole because a part of him is happy it’s ending, if it means he will stop being trapped like a lab rat in a fucking cage.

He debates ending this now, so that he won’t see what’s coming next. But of course he won’t, not when it could endanger Gabriel, and… Brian. 

Gavin will probably kill him the first chance he gets anyway. Their relationship started civilly enough; Gavin showed up in Lakevallée at an exhibition entirely devoted to Connor’s work during the cold winter of 2004. The man pursued Connor, pretending that he was an agent named Frank Summers who had fallen in love with the artist’s work. And Connor was stupid enough to believe him, bragging that he could do so much more. 

Making replicas of his own work was always a game. He did it for years, never once telling anyone about his special ability. When he met Gavin, he felt validated as an artist. Gavin knew exactly how to manipulate Connor, boosting his ego, telling him how special he was. They spent nights locked up in Connor’s studio downtown, with Gavin raving about the brunet’s talent, repeating again and again that Connor didn’t belong in Lakevallée, that he knew people who would pay big money to exhibit his art all around the world.

At the time, Connor was desperate to escape his life, so Gavin’s promises made him reckless and oblivious. He showed his newest replica to the fake agent on an icy morning in January, wanting the man to be even more impressed by his talent. It worked like a charm.

One day later, Gavin set his studio on fire and forced Connor to watch a life’s worth of work burn to the ground. Only a few paintings escaped the fire: the ones which were exhibited at the gallery and the hotel, and three other canvases - ‘Emerald Darkness’ and its replica as well as the painting he made for Gabriel all those years ago, which he kept in his office at home.

Connor threatened to go to the police, of course, but since fate loves to laugh at the brunet’s expense, he soon discovered that Frank Summers - whose name is really Gavin Allen - is an FBI agent. He is also a hitman, working for one of the most influential criminals in America, a man named Harry Malone, who trafficks art, and other things, all around the world. 

Connor met Malone two days after the fire. Since that day, he paints replicas, but not of his own work anymore. He’s pretty sure this is the sole reason Gavin hasn’t killed him yet. He is valuable to Malone, and Gavin can’t do as he pleases. 

“Hello, Connor,” Gavin’s voice interrupts his thoughts, just as Connor’s phone starts ringing on the kitchen counter. The brunet was expecting him, so he isn’t surprised, but he can’t stop the chill that runs down his spine at the man’s greeting. “Nice of you to leave your door open. Although it’s pretty dumb, if you ask me. Not that you’ve ever been smart.”

Connor has never understood why Gavin hates him so much, but he does. As he turns around to gaze up at his tormentor, he sees it again in the man’s eyes, the hatred. 

“Gavin... don’t frighten the kid. He’s family after all.” another voice comes from the door. “Although probably not for long, now.”

Connor peers past Gavin’s body - noticing three other men standing beside him - and freezes. Leaning into the entryway behind them, looking at him with a small, cruel smile, is a man he hasn’t seen since his former studio was burned down.

“Tick, tick, tick… the game is almost over,” Malone intones, staring right at him.

***

**_The chalet, same time…_ **

“He isn’t picking up,” Gabriel informs Brian as he strides across the living room of the chalet, toward the door where the brunet is standing.

“Maybe he’s jerking off remembering the feeling of your ass,” Brian quips, grabbing the keys to Gabriel’s pickup from the dining table and inquiring, “Shall we?”

Gabriel nods several times, as if convincing himself to move. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He takes the keys from Brian’s hand and his jacket from the back of the couch.

Brian locks up the chalet and follows Gabriel to his car. He slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut as his friend turns on the pickup.

Several minutes later, Gabriel parks near Connor’s Mustang and kills the engine, staring at the house. 

“You ready?” Brian inquires quietly when Gabriel shows no signs of moving.

“Give me a minute,” the blond replies. 

“Sure,” Brian responds, opening the door and slipping out, observing a bald eagle flying over the lake while the sun slowly disappears behind the centuries-old oaks to the west. Everything is quiet out there.

“So, how do you want to proceed? We barge in there and tell him we know he is a forger?” Gabriel questions as he finally exits the vehicle.

“Well, I’m sure if we’re wrong about our theory, your boyfriend will be delighted to know we have so much faith in him.” Brian counters derisively, leaning against the pickup’s passenger door.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Gabriel immediately retorts, ignoring Brian’s valid point.

“Yeah. He is just the most important person in your life. My bad.” Brian deadpans as Gabriel walks around the car to join him. 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gabriel protests, pausing by Brian’s side.

“Took you long enough to admit it.”

Gabriel’s head spins as he gazes up at Brian. “You’re one to speak.”

Knowing exactly who Gabriel is referring to, Brian lets out a dry laugh. “ _ He _ ’s better off without me.”

Gabriel frowns, and Brian can see his friend heard something in his voice that is stopping him from contradicting the brunet. In moments like these, Brian finds it harder to lie. It would be easier if he could tell the truth, if he could have someone to lean on and talk to about his nightmares, about what he has gone through during the past six years. Moreover, Justin only left two days ago, and he is already fighting not to let the fear of never seeing him again mess completely with his mind. 

Brian peers at Gabriel, silently daring him to question him further. The blond stares back at him for a few seconds, his face unreadable. “Let’s go,” he finally announces and starts walking toward Connor’s house.

Brian watches him move away, then follows him. 

Gabriel stops at the front door, staring at it quizzically. “It’s open,” he says, before pushing it open further. “Connor?” he calls, entering the house with Brian on his heels. “It’s Gabriel.” 

The room is quiet. A single lamp is turned on by the couch. Gabriel approaches and stills as he looks down at the coffee table.

Brian joins him, noticing right away what made his friend pause. “How old were you?” he inquires as he picks up the photograph of Gabriel and Connor.

“Fourteen,” Gabriel elucidates. “We took that picture in a field full of cows, the first time we got drunk. Connor dragged me there and spent all the time looking for their shit, because he wanted to see flies.” He smiles, remembering. “I’d stolen a bottle of vodka from my old man. Connor was completely wasted and kept marveling at how beautiful and delicate flies were. That they were as unappreciated as he was. He kept smiling at them and trying to catch them to give them a hug. I think he managed to kill a dozen in the process.”

“That explains his goofy smile, then,” Brian volunteers, teasing, “You had quite the haircut, though.”

“Well, I had to save him from the charging cows which were tired of seeing his ass.” Gabriel counters and snatches the photo from Brian’s hands, before going toward the staircase. “Connor must be upstairs.”

“I’ll check his office,” Brian proposes, watching Gabriel disappear up the stairs. 

He is about to open the door to Connor’s office when he hears a muffled, loud noise coming from the second floor, like something heavy had fallen to the floor. “Gabriel?” he calls, stepping back. 

“Upstairs!” He hears a voice and frowns, not recognizing it as Gabriel’s. He approaches the stairs and slowly ascends them, until he is standing in the hallway.

“In here!” the voice calls again, quieter this time, coming from Connor’s studio.

The door is ajar, but Brian can’t see anything inside, so he pushes it open. The room is dark - the curtains have been pulled - but he can still discern a man who resembles Connor, sitting motionless, his hands behind his back. He shouldn’t be sitting like that, he muses, taking a step forward, his mind refusing to analyze what his eyes are seeing.

His feet connect with something on the floor. Bending down, his blood runs cold as he realizes he is touching an unmoving body, instinctively recognizing his friend. “Gabe?” He breathes out, suddenly feeling a sticky substance on his hands. “Gabriel!” 

“Alas, your friend can’t hear you anymore,” is the last thing he hears, before he feels an arm encircling his chest while something pierces him at the base of his neck, and passes out.

 


	21. The game is almost over

**_Lakevallée, FBI safe house, 8:10 p.m._ **

Jacquie enters the seemingly abandoned cottage and walks into the living room, the few pieces of furniture draped in white sheets. Her heels echoing on the old wooden floor, she heads straight toward a rusted metal bookshelf and reaches for a Hemingway book. Retrieving it, she places it on its side before pushing a hidden button. A loud click resonates in the empty space as the bookshelf pivots to reveal a hidden room, fully equipped with high-tech computers.

Sitting at a desk, she turns on the cameras for the safe house as well as a couple of the computers. A minute later, she is frantically typing on a keyboard, checking the time on the screen every minute. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t find anything relevant regarding Gavin Allen in the FBI files, other than confirmation of where he grew up and that his father died when he was sixteen years old. Perusing his file, she searches for some clue to explain how Allen has been able to hide his connection to Decunn all these years, but finds none.

Sighing in frustration, she leans back in her chair and notices a rental driving up the alley outside. As she watches the monitor, she sees Carl sliding out of the car and immediately stands up.

“Finally,” she greets the detective as he enters the cottage and strides to the control room.

“Did you find anything?” he inquires, taking off his coat. 

“You mean, other than this?” Jacquie answers, gesturing at the desk, where she’d left printouts of Mary Elizabeth’s letter and the article regarding Richard Allen’s death.

Carl picks them up, staring at the article with the photograph of Richard Allen and his son Gavin. 

“Unbelievable.” he eventually says, gazing over at Jacquie. “As much as I try to get my mind around it, your boss being Decunn’s brother doesn’t make  any sense.”

“Maybe Gavin and Harry Malone know each other.” Jacquie enunciates what has been on her mind for the past half hour. If her boss has hidden the fact that he has a brother in the very same town where he chose to have Brian enter the witness protection program, he could be hiding more. 

“And what? Allen works for Harry Malone and used his half-brother to... what?” Carl asks agitatedly.

Jacquie shakes her head. “I’m not even sure how Gavin knows about his brother, or if Decunn is aware of any of this. Regardless, it can’t be a coincidence. If Gavin’s been lying to us all this time, he could be the mole we’re looking for.” 

Carl stills at her words, staring at his partner.

“Think about it,” Jacquie insists. “Malone is suspected of fencing forged art, right? And Decunn is an artist, so Gavin could be using him to counterfeit paintings. And besides, the entire time we’ve been trying to bust Malone, the guy has always had the upper hand, as if someone was tipping him off. What if Gavin is the informant?”

Carl slumps down in a nearby chair. “Shit…” he whispers in realization, “...it does make sense. And if it’s true, it means Malone knows about Brian. But why would he have waited until now to get rid of Brian? And why bring-?” he questions, when he’s interrupted by the ringing of Jacquie’s cell.

The FBI agent peers down at the phone, her eyes going wide as she reads Gavin Allen’s name on the screen. “It’s Allen,” she tells Carl.

On a hunch, she motions for him to turn on the phone tracker as she heads toward the device. She then plugs the phone in and activates the software on the computer to pinpoint the call, letting a couple of rings elapse before she answers.

“Bennett.” 

Gavin’s voice resounds in the room. “Allen, here. We have a situation.”

“What situation?” Jacquie inquires carefully, her eyes scanning the screen to make sure the triangulation is proceeding.

“It’s come to my attention that Justin Taylor has discovered Liam Byron’s true identity.”

“What?” The Afro-American woman exclaims, seeing the look of fear flashing across Carl’s face, while she questions how Allen knows about Taylor. “It can’t be-”

“I’m relocating both of them tonight,” Allen cuts her off.

“I…” Jacquie stammers, trying to comprehend what Allen is saying, “What do you mean, relocating  _ both _ of them?”

“Justin Taylor can’t go back to his old life now that he knows Kinney is alive. He made a choice.” Allen answers, although that rings false. 

Jacquie peers over at Carl, helpless. A lot of questions are swirling in her mind regarding this new turn of events, but most importantly, she realizes they realistically have no time to prevent Allen from executing his plan. “Where are you? I can come help-” Jacquie offers as she looks at the screen in the hope that the triangulation is complete, but Allen doesn’t let her speak.

“You screwed up, Bennett.” he tells her, referring to her last visit to Brian. “You didn’t report that Taylor recognized Kinney. I’ve therefore made the decision that I’ll be the only one who knows where they are from now on. You’re off the case.”

A shiver travels through Jacquie’s body at the man’s announcement. “No, Allen. You can’t expect Carl Horvath to accept that.” she protests, for lack of a better response. 

“I don’t care about Horvath. He is the reason they’re in this shit in the first place. If he had kept a better lock on Kinney that night, maybe the guy would still have his old life, instead of the pathetic one he has now.”

“Allen,” Jacquie pleads, “Don’t do this.”

“We’ll talk later.” Allen ignores her entreaty and hangs up.

Hearing the dial tone in her ear, Jacquie curses, “God damn it!” She has been so absorbed in the conversation, however, that she failed to see the result of the triangulation on the computer screen.

“We’ve got him!” Horvath announces, leaning closer to look at the blinking address.

Jacquie stares at it too, intoning, “I know that address.” She fumbles with the file she brought with her and points at the address on the second page. “It’s Connor Decunn’s house.”

“What is he doing at Decunn’s?” Carl wonders. 

Jacquie heads toward a locked cabinet, where she pulls out holsters and three guns, giving one set to Carl. “Here.” She inserts the smaller gun into a holster she wraps around her ankle and places the revolver into a holder at her waist, before selecting a few more items and putting them into a bag. 

“Allen’s not going to relocate them, is he?” Carl questions as he attaches the holstered pistol to his belt.

Jacquie zips up the bag. “Probably not”, she replies, relocking the cabinet and grabbing her jacket, trying to fathom Allen’s motives.

“So, why…” 

Horvath stops when Jacquie suddenly stills, conjecturing, “He called me because he needs someone to back up his story... I think he’s going to kill them.”

***

**_Connor’s house, a few minutes earlier, 8:00 p.m._ **

Brian blinks, his head killing him as he fights to open his eyes. He can’t breathe. He tries to move, but something is holding him back. His eyes becoming accustomed to the light, they fall on a finished canvas on an easel, lily pads floating on the water. ‘Monet’ reads the signature on the painting, making Brian blink a couple of times. Looking down to his right, he notices all the paintings leaning against the walls and windows as well as stacked on shelves. Paintbrushes, a myriad of tubes, unused canvases, dried paint on the floor, it’s all there. He understands what it means - that Gabriel’s fears were justified - although the thought vanishes when he sees the brunet sitting in a corner, tied up like him, his head down. 

Connor’s face is covered in blood. A surge of panic courses through him at the sight. He remembers now, coming here with Gabriel. He remembers touching his friend’s limp body.  The unbearable thought makes him jolt upward, as he tries to scream but can’t, only succeeding in emitting a muffled cry.

“He’s awake,” a voice says next to him, a man he has never seen before appearing at his side. Brian attempts to peer up, but before he can, another hand grasps his hair, pulling his head backward.

“Just in time,”  _ his _ hot breath whispers in his ear before releasing him forcibly, and Brian freezes, instantly recognizing the voice. How is this possible? It shouldn’t be happening.

But it is. Gavin Allen steps in front of him, dashing the sliver of hope that the FBI agent is here to help. The look on his face is anything but pleasant. It’s cold, malicious, even more so when Gavin begins to smile, intoning, “I wouldn’t want you to miss the show. Taylor will be here soon.”

It can’t be. Is Allen talking about Justin? 

Overwhelmed by a sudden fit of rage, Brian tries to attack the agent, but the ties holding him are too tight. He continues to struggle until Gavin Allen orders the hitman next to him to punch him in the face.

The blow almost knocks him out.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor’s desperate voice reaches his ears. Feeling the blood on his lips, Brian swallows. He directs his gaze toward the brunet, a chill traveling through his bones when he sees his haunted gaze. 

“Well, if you’re talking about Kinney, it’s nothing personal. He just has something my friend wants. Or more accurately, his boyfriend does.” Gavin expostulates, staring at Brian and then at Connor. “As for you… I hate you. It’s as simple as that.”

Brian feels like he is going to throw up when Allen confirms that Justin has been lured into coming back. He also wonders why Gavin is looking at Connor with so much disdain.

“What have I done to you, huh?” Connor exclaims, struggling to get free, prompting the hitman to walk closer to him and place a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

Gavin slowly turns around to face the painter. “You really don’t know, do you? About our father?” 

Connor stops all movement, stunned by Allen’s insinuation. “ _ Our _ what?”

“You’re my brother, Connor.” Gavin calmly reveals, lightly brushing his fingers across three huge impressionist paintings resting side by side as he moves closer to Connor. “The bastard my dad had with your mom. The reason he died, why  _ my  _ mom lost her mind and slowly killed herself.”

Brian observes Connor’s eyes going wide at Allen’s announcement. “What? No. My father was a fucking coward who abandoned my mother when she was pregnant.”

Gavin huffs, stopping in front of Connor. “Think again. I found the last letter Richard wrote to my mother, and as it turns out, my mom knew about you and hid it from my dad. When he learned what she had done, he decided to abandon us to be with you. If not for you...”

“Daddy issues?” Connor cuts him off derisively. “That’s your excuse for making my life a living hell? You fucking pussy! It’s not my fault your dad was a jerk! Though that explains why you’re such a deranged piece of shit!”

Brian is taken aback by Connor’s boldness. It’s as if he wants to push Allen past his boundaries and have him kill him already. 

“Careful,” Gavin threatens in a low voice, leaning over Connor. “Or, I swear I will take my time and make you suffer excruciatingly before I’m done with you.”

“I’d love to watch you try!” Connor lashes out, his voice breaking. 

Brian almost flinches at the pain emanating from the painter. The only thing he can think of to explain Connor’s obvious agony would be if Gabriel is dead. But the gallery owner is not in the room anymore, and Brian has no idea what has happened to him. 

Casting a look toward the door, Brian notices the blood on the floor for the first time. He does flinch this time, as Gavin hits Connor in response to his outburst. 

The FBI agent then pulls out a knife. He watches the blade roll between his fingers, and is about to place it against Connor’s throat when he’s interrupted by the sound of shoes marching down the hallway. 

Before he sees  _ him _ , Brian somehow knows who is about to enter the studio.

“Gavin, it’s time for you to move your touching family reunion outside. I need to talk to Mr. Kinney. Alone.” Harry Malone demands as he walks in, delaying the confrontation between the two brothers. He casts one sharp look at his henchman, before carefully taking off his fedora and placing it on a peg by the door. 

While the thug leaves the room without a word, Gavin unties Connor’s ankles from the chair, before carelessly forcing the brunet up, his hands still tied behind his back. “Don’t worry, I’ll rearrange your face soon enough. Move,” he orders, pushing the painter toward the door.

Connor resists, prompting Gavin to kick him behind the knee. The painter falls to the floor, cursing. When he looks up, his eyes find Brian’s.

The expression on his face - the anger, betrayal, and fear - fades as he breathes out, looking away, “I’m sorry,” Brian knowing he is the one being apologized to. Gavin then forces Connor up, pushing him into the hallway. 

Brian watches, helpless, and briefly closes his eyes as he listens to their footsteps fading away.

“I never properly introduced myself. I’m Harry Malone.” 

Opening his eyes, Brian meets the gaze of the maniac he has run from all these years. The guy’s penetrating stare still makes him want to flee as fast as he can. 

Tilting his head, Malone inquires, amused, “You have nothing to say?”

Brian glares daggers at the man in response.

“Oh, forgive me… I can be so distracted sometimes,” Malone sardonically apologizes, leaning over to remove the gag from Brian’s mouth.

Brian almost spits in his face, but he is insanely angry and therefore rages instead in a hoarse voice, “You sonofabitch! What have you done to Gabriel?”

Malone raises his brows. “Me? Nothing. But I’m afraid Gavin may have killed your friend.”

Brian feels like he’s received a punch to the gut. Did they really murder Gabriel in cold blood?

“You knew.” he accuses Malone, livid as he realizes nothing would have happened to Gabriel if it weren’t for him. “All this time, with Allen, you knew where I was. So why didn’t you kill me sooner, instead of dragging innocent people into this?”

Malone scoots a chair closer to Brian and sits down in front of him, the brunet gazing down to avoid seeing the bastard’s smug face. “Well, when I heard you had survived your friend’s assault, I thought about finishing you off, but then, Gavin came up with another proposal.” he discloses, clearly enjoying their conversation. 

As Brian realizes what the man has just implied, he looks up at him, breathing out, “My  _ friend _ ?”

“Oh, right. You don’t know.” Malone smiles, “The guy who shot you in that parking garage was your best friend. Michael... Novotny?”

“I…” Brian can’t comprehend what he’s just heard. Closing his eyes, he tries to control his sudden impulse to throw up, denying, “Michael would never…”

“He was reluctant, I’ll give you that.” Malone cuts him off. “But it was either you, or my hitman would have gone after his mom, his partner, your closest friends, your former partner, your son.” He states each possibility slowly, trying to catch Brian’s gaze, while the brunet looks away. Leaning back, Malone concludes, “Your friend was smart enough to make the right choice.”

“You used him,” Brian says, finally understanding why he has no recollection of that night. He may not remember, but he instinctively comprehends that with so many lives on the line, the only choice was to convince Michael to kill him. Imagining his best friend as the shooter is horrifying, though, making it hardly surprising that his mind has blocked out the memory.

“It’s something I do in my line of business.” Malone agrees, recalling his attention. “I needed someone who’d take the fall for your death, and your best friend was the perfect scapegoat. I didn’t expect that detective to clean up the mess, however. Or for you to survive.” He adds, his face sobering, “You should never have talked to the police in the first place.”

“You should have killed me,” Brian retorts with a murderous glare, the thought that Horvath must have helped Michael to move on with his life doing little to lessen his anger. Struggling to free his hands from his ties - wanting badly to strangle that son of a bitch for all he has put them through - he feels them finally loosen a little, but not enough to give him any hope of escape. 

“Maybe.” Malone concedes. 

Brian keep staring at the maniac for a few more seconds before looking away, overwhelmed by a sense of loss. He knows he’s fucked. Luring Justin into coming back is the last straw, since Malone will probably kill them both before the night is over. Brian doesn’t know what Justin has that Malone wants so much, but no matter what, he should have known the blond wouldn't just move on with his life. What was he thinking, letting him go back to Pittsburgh without coming with a plan to keep him safe? 

“Gavin Allen. Who is he?” he finally inquires, needing to understand how he could have been so blind, never suspecting anything. Even though he never liked the guy, how could he have guessed the FBI agent was a fraud? Rising in the FBI’s hierarchy without drawing any attention to himself for so long seems impossible; yet, that’s exactly what Allen did. 

“He’s an inside man, someone I recruited when he was a sixteen-year-old boy, a sulky teenager mad at the world, who needed someone to guide him, to give him a purpose.” Malone replies, which confirms Brian’s suspicions regarding his fate. It’s unlikely Malone would reveal so much if he planned to let them live. “The kid was remarkably smart,” Malone resumes, “though his life was spiralling out of control after his father’s death. His mother was unfit, but he was old enough to travel a different path and make a better choice for his life. And he did. My best achievement so far.”

“He’s the one who decided to make me come here.” Brian realizes, knowing Gavin must have pulled strings to be assigned to Malone’s FBI investigation and Brian’s protection, since both matters benefited the accused.

“Yes. When he came to me with this crazy plan to have you enter the witness protection program and come here, I admit I wasn’t thrilled, but he’d just discovered he had a brother, and well, I think I always had a soft spot for that kid.” Malone divulges. “I handle a lot of different types of business, so the fact that his brother could forge art convinced me.”

Brian shakes his head. “It still doesn’t explain why you didn’t get rid of me sooner. Allen didn’t need me to blackmail Connor.”

“That’s partly true.” Malone clarifies. “I would have gotten rid of you sooner, but since you knew that hustler - or so I thought - I didn’t. He stole something from me, and although I thought my men had found it back when they dealt with him, it turns out they didn’t. It took me a while to realize the flash drive that little prick had on him when he died wasn’t the one he took from me, but only a copy.” Malone stands up, heading toward the window. “I kept you alive knowing there was a possibility you would lead me to the original flash drive, since it’s the only thing that could lead to my arrest.”

“How?” Brian questions with a frown, ignoring Malone’s last declaration. “I wasn’t even aware of its existence!”

“You know how resourceful a desperate man can be. I’m sure it applies to you, too.” Malone turns back to face him, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “But in fact, when I understood you would do nothing without the right incentive, I sent you a little present.”

“Justin?” Brian breathes out after a few seconds, as he discerns what Malone is implying. “It was you?”

“I just nudged fate.” Malone reformulates. “Who would have thought that a random magazine would be so useful?”

Justin didn’t find the magazine by chance, Brian understands. It was all part of a sick game, the only purpose of which was to discover a flash drive important to Malone. It didn’t matter to him how many innocent people were killed in the process. Terror descends on Brian as he perceives why Justin has been manipulated into coming back, clueless as to what is really happening. “Justin has the flash drive.”

“He does,” Malone confirms Brian’s suspicions before observing wryly, “And once I have it, you’ll both disappear. I can’t leave any witnesses behind.”

“You’re going to kill Connor, too…” Brian surmises.

“Gavin is dealing with him as we speak,” Malone verifies, approaching the window to peer outside. He smiles, announcing, “Your boyfriend has arrived.”

“If you touch him, I’ll kill you!”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re in no position to spout threats, Kinney? I can kill him quickly, but don’t test my patience, or I won’t.” 

With those last words, Malone replaces Brian’s gag and walks out of the room.

***

**_Same time_ **

Justin parks the car next to Gabriel’s pickup. Safely tucking the flash drive into the pocket of his cargos, he then slides out of the vehicle. Night is descending, a soft wind grazing the back of his neck. Looking down at his phone, he checks if there is a new message from Brian - the brunet having texted him to meet at Connor’s house an hour ago. When he sees he has none, he heads toward the front door.

He is surprised the house is so quiet. “Liam?” he calls out, pushing the door open when no one responds to his knocking, and entering the living room. The lamp by the couch is shining dimly, but the room is empty.

“Justin Taylor,” a voice says his name, Justin not understanding why he doesn’t recognize it. 

Peering toward the hallway leading to Connor’s office, the blond walks a few steps before pausing. A man is standing there, as if waiting for him, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“We haven’t met before,” the man says as Justin frowns, a sense of doom washing over him. “I’m Harry Malone.”

The blond’s breath catches in his throat as he instinctively steps back, only to discover two men blocking his way out.

“Kinney is upstairs,” Malone informs him coldly, gesturing toward the stairs. “After you,” he encourages, waiting for Justin to precede him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up next week :)  
> And I have the best readers I could ever wish for <3


	22. Everything is going to be okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: again, in case violence is a trigger for you, be aware that this chapter contain graphic depictions of violence.

**_Lakevallée, on the road to Connor’s house, 8:30 p.m._ **

“It’s done,” Carl informs Jacquie as he ends the call. “The local police will join us at the scene. I told them to proceed carefully.”

“Good,” Jacquie says, driving the vehicle onto a rutted path about four hundred feet from their destination. Once the car is fully hidden from view, she pulls over and turns the motor off, immediately opening the door to slide out. 

Carl does the same. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, taking in the surroundings, the forest spreading down to the lake.

“Allen’s superior has been notified. A team is on the way, but we can’t wait for them.” Jacquie shuts the door quietly, checking her gun and walking to the trunk. She opens it, leaning down to rummage through the bag she prepared at the safe house. Retrieving a couple of items, she glances at Horvath and declares, “I’ll take the path that leads directly to the house. You skirt the forest and head west. You’ll eventually arrive at the lake in front of the house. Here, take this,” she orders, handing him a bulletproof vest and grabbing another for herself. Once both of them have donned the vests, Jacquie gives Carl a miniature cell phone and an earpiece, specifying, “To contact each other. Put that in your ear and press this button.”

“What about the neighbors?” Carl inquires as he puts the earplug into place and secures the cell on his belt, checking that everything is functioning properly. 

“Let’s hope they’re out of town.” Jacquie answers, doing the same. Satisfied, she nods and clarifies, “We don’t have time to check.”

“Okay,” Carl breathes out, a rush of adrenaline coursing through him. In the thirty-two years he’s been on the force, he’s never participated in an operation like this. He’s barely ever used his gun, whereas Jacquie is a trained agent and used to handling dangerous interventions.

“Horvath?” Jacquie calls his name.

“Yeah?” Carl responds, gazing at her. His apprehension must be obvious, since Jacquie gives him a supportive look.

“Be careful,” she warns him. “We don’t know what we’re going to find. Be prepared for the worst. And always watch your back.”

“I will,” Carl promises, nodding in assent before turning around and striding toward the lake.

He walks past huge oaks, carefully stepping over multiple tree branches. He can hear birds all around him, their trilling doing nothing to calm the furious beating of his heart. 

A flock of birds suddenly flies from a tree about fifty feet away, making him jump. Freezing, he hides behind an oak. He peers around the tree at the source of the disruption and realizes he can’t see anything, the fading daylight making it impossible to discern any shape more than a few feet from him. Carefully, Carl resumes his advance, making sure to stay out of sight as he approaches the tree from which the birds fled.

As he does, he hears sounds. Voices. Squinting, he’s able to distinguish two men. One is standing in front of the oak, but it’s the other who catches Carl’s attention. He’s tied up, his arms secured to the tree with rope. Carl can’t see his face, but as he stares at the other man, he recognizes Gavin Allen.

***

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

Connor staggers. With his hands tied behind his back and Gavin pushing him forward, he can’t find his balance. As expected, the next nudge has him falling down face first, flat onto the ground. Dirt fills his mouth, his cheekbone aching badly from the impact.

“Come on, move!” Gavin doesn’t give him time to regroup before grasping his arm painfully, forcing him to stand back up. 

“Why are you in such a hurry, huh?” Connor spits after a minute, barely managing to stay upright as he’s marched toward the woods.

“I can’t wait to kill you,” Gavin retorts, taking a few more steps before forcing Connor to halt and carelessly pushing him against the trunk of an old oak. He removes the rope he looped over his shoulder before they left the house and uses it to fasten Connor’s body to the oak. Once he’s done, he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “I should have captured a wolf and left you here while it slowly ate you.”

“Yeah, too bad you didn’t.” Connor taunts. “You’ll have to find another sick way to kill me.” 

Connor knows he’s in deep trouble. If no one comes to his aid, he’s certain he’ll suffer agonizingly before dying. A lot of people have looked at him with disdain in his life, but the level of hate he sees in Gavin’s eyes surpasses anything he’s witnessed. There is something else too, a subtle insanity, an irascibility Gavin can’t control, one that Connor recognizes since he’s lived with it all his life. 

“So tell me,” Connor resumes. If he’s going to be tortured, he might as well earn it. “Was your mother gross? Fat and ugly? Because when I look at your face, you sure were not blessed by-”

The first punch comes then, Connor’s head abruptly snapping to the side. A fiery pain washes over his cheekbone and nose, and he forces himself to breathe deeply before gazing up again. As he does, his lips turn upward.

“Ahhhh, I see. Your mom was a terrible cocksucker. I mean, she must have been if she couldn’t keep your father satisfied. Maybe she was frigid? What do you think?”

He has barely finished speaking when he receives a second punch, this one to his stomach. The brunet’s breath is cut short by the force of the impact. He coughs a couple of times, trying to regain control over his body and focusing until the pain slowly lessens.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Gavin questions dryly.

“I have an IQ of 162. I don’t think; I know,” Connor coughs, spitting out blood. “What’s yours, big brother?”

Saying the word that establishes their connection provokes a strange squeezing in Connor’s chest, an emotion he prefers to ignore. 

“You know, Connor, I’m going to enjoy this,” Gavin declares as he grabs the knife in his pocket, unlocking it so that the blade springs out. He slowly enunciates, taking his time so that Connor will hear every word and imagine each moment to come, “I’m going to do exactly what I did to your boyfriend. I will slash your face to pieces. I will stab you, multiple times. It’s going to be excruciatingly painful. But you won’t die.”

Connor’s sarcastic facade vanishes as he realizes what Gavin has just implied. “Gabriel is alive?” After watching the blond be marked with a knife and then stabbed, he was sure he was already dead.

“That is all that matters, huh? Your boyfriend?” Gavin inquires. “Well, he may not be dead yet, but I’m sure he wishes he was.”  

Connor stares down at the ground, overwhelmed by this unexpected information, not wanting to let this piece of shit see how much it affects him.

However, Gavin kneels down in front of him, peering up at his face as he continues, “We’ll keep him alive just long enough - like we will with you, Kinney, and Taylor - so that your bodies aren’t wasted. You’re worth millions, didn’t you know?”

“Our bodies? Malone is an organ trafficker?” he surmises, staring at Gavin in horror.

“Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought,” Gavin replies, approaching with the knife and slicing it across Connor’s left biceps in one sharp movement. 

Connor can’t help it, flinching as pain shoots down his arm. “Fucker,” he grunts, closing his eyes.

“It stings, doesn’t it?” Gavin comments, pleased. “And yet it’s nothing compared to what’s to come.” 

With that promise, he reaches out toward Connor’s chest and presses the blade against his pecs, breaking the skin. While he was quick with the first cut, he proceeds slowly this time, several seconds elapsing before he removes the knife, a long trail of blood staining the brunet’s shirt from left to right.

Connor can taste blood in his mouth. He’s fighting not to make a sound, but he can’t prevent an agonized moan from echoing inside his shut mouth as the blade progresses along on his skin. Once it stops, having almost reached the point of unconsciousness, he releases the breath he’s been holding.

Raising his eyes, he sneers at Gavin, forcing the words out with as much venom as he can. “This is the best you can do?” 

“I told you, we’re just about to start the good stuff. Now, say goodbye to your pretty face,” Gavin retorts cruelly.

Connor closes his eyes as Gavin raises the knife, waiting for the man to carry out his threat. But just as he feels the cold blade grazing his skin, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize shout, “Freeze!” 

He opens his eyes and sees Gavin stepping back. 

“I won’t say it again!” the voice continues. “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot you, Allen!”

Connor frowns, wondering who is threatening Gavin. He peers to the side and observes a man in his fifties approaching carefully, gun aimed at his brother.

“Horvath, you’re making a big mistake. I’m an FBI agent.” Allen cautions, eying the man askance. 

“Now, Allen. I won’t repeat it again.” Horvath insists firmly.

Connor holds his breath as Gavin hesitates and finally steps back, raising his hands and dropping the knife to the ground. Horvath grabs a pair of handcuffs and throws them at Gavin, ordering, “Put these on. Now.”

The glare Gavin directs at Horvath is murderous, but he complies, picking up the handcuffs from the ground and securing one around his right wrist. Horvath takes advantage of this, forcibly grabbing his other hand and finishing the process of restraining the FBI agent.

“Jacquie,” he speaks, using a miniature cell phone to contact whoever this Jacquie is. “I have Allen. And Decunn.” He waits for a response and nods a couple of times, while forcing Gavin to move toward the tree before releasing Connor.

As soon as the ropes loosen, Connor struggles to get free, taking a step forward and rubbing his abraded wrists. He then turns to face Gavin, landing a blow to his face, the man faltering at the strength of the painter’s vengeful punch.

“You motherfucker,” Connor spits out, grabbing the collar of Gavin’s jacket and throwing him against the trunk, startling Horvath, who momentarily loses his grip on Gavin. The FBI agent takes advantage of the move to charge Connor, but the painter is so full of hate that Gavin doesn’t succeed in escaping his grasp.

“Calm down!” Horvath yells, raising his gun to aim at Gavin as he grabs Connor’s arm, forcing him to recoil. Glaring at Connor, he secures the ropes around Gavin’s body. “You want to get killed, Decunn? Because I don’t.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Connor barks, nonetheless obeying the man’s order and taking a couple of steps back.

Ignoring Connor’s query, Gavin interjects, “What do you think you’re doing here, Horvath?” Glaring daggers at the policeman, Gavin indicates the brunet with a toss of his head. “This guy is working for Harry Malone! He’s one of the reasons I have to relocate Kinney! And you might not like my methods of obtaining information, but I was working, so you’d better fucking untie me before you make a huge mistake! ”

Horvath stays silent for a moment, making Connor fear he believes Gavin’s false explanation. But when the detective responds, his cold tone provides a sharp contrast to Gavin’s outburst. “Nice try. But you see, we know about your connection to Decunn, Allen. So, would you care to explain why you’d torture your  _ brother _ ?”

Gavin doesn’t reply immediately, the fury in his eyes showing he knows he’s been busted. 

“It’s over, Allen.” Horvath declares resolutely. “We know you’re the mole we’ve been looking for. I never understood why Malone was always ten steps ahead of us every single time we should have caught him, but now, it all makes sense. Having an FBI agent in his pocket was very clever.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Horvath,” Gavin attempts to deny his association with the criminal, although it’s useless. One stare from the detective is enough to convince him that the policeman won’t believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. Even so, Gavin warns him, “It’s not over. It’s never going to be over.”

“We’ll see about that,” Horvath counters, keeping his gaze on Gavin for a few more seconds, before turning to look at Connor, inquiring, “You alright, son?”

The question startles Connor for some reason. “I…” He feels sick, the taste of blood still filling his mouth. He’s cold and has a hard time focusing on the detective’s face. But he needs to tell him what’s going on. “Malone is here, with Brian and… fuck,” he breathes out, a wave of dizziness making him stumble as he realizes he doesn’t have a clue where Gabriel is. “I need to go back.”

The policeman frowns in concern. “You’re hurt, Connor. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

Connor begins to step back, glancing down at his bloody shirt. Horvath advances toward him, prompting the painter to look up at him. The man repeats his first name, which means he must know who he is. Maybe he knows about the forgeries, about everything. He might want to arrest him, too.

But the truth is, Connor doesn’t care. All that matters to him anymore - apart from enjoying his brother’s downfall - is to find Gabriel and to make sure Brian and Justin are okay.

“I need to go,” Connor whispers as he continues to back up. “I’m sorry, but I need to go,” he insists before turning around and running, disregarding his increasing dizziness.

“Connor, wait!” He hears Horvath’s plea but ignores it.

***

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

The sound of steps ascending the stairs is all that Brian can hear as he sits, tied up, powerless, waiting for the noise to stop. When it does, Justin is standing at the threshold, staring at him with a look full of love and terror that makes his throat close up painfully.

“Brian…” the blond whispers his name and, ignoring the danger, joins him in three quick steps, kneeling in front of him and placing his cheek against his, the warmth of his skin causing a tugging in Brian’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly as he lowers his head, burying his face in the brunet’s neck.

Shaking his head, Brian closes his eyes, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. He’s terrified of what’s going to happen to his lover and wants to do something or say something that would lessen the pain, but he can’t. When a hand forces Justin backward, he gazes at him, praying to a Lord he doesn’t believe in to have mercy on the man he loves.

“How touching,” Malone comments, removing the gag from Brian’s mouth, tilting his head as his henchman restrains Justin and puts him in a chair facing the brunet. 

“If you touch him...” Brian warns, unable to control his fury. The certainty that Justin is here because of him and will probably die, is too unbearable for him to think rationally. 

He should know better, however. One glance from Malone is all it takes for the thug to strike Justin twice, the blond folding over at the force of the blows.

“Justin!” Brian exclaims. 

“Find it,” Malone orders, the henchman immediately beginning to search Justin’s clothes, not waiting for the blond to regain full consciousness.

Brian watches, helpless, as the man’s hands travel across Justin’s body. He can’t detach his gaze from those hands, dreading the moment when they will stop moving. They do, eventually, his fingers closing around a small item that Brian knows is the flash drive Malone has been looking for ever since his fate was sealed in that parking garage. With it gone, Brian and Justin’s last chance to escape this nightmare vanishes, and with them gone, no one will ever be aware of its existence.

Peering up at Malone, Brian wonders what has happened to this man, questioning the reason he turned into a cruel, insensitive human being who feels no emotion. The thought is fleeting, though, because Justin chooses that moment to gaze over at him, and once their eyes lock, Brian isn’t able to look anywhere else. 

When he realizes Justin has a plan, he pleads with his eyes for the blond to  _ listen _ to him and not do something stupid. 

“Justin…” 

Justin ignores him, raising his head, waiting for Malone to look at him. “I made a copy,” he claims impassively. Once the criminal pivots to blankly stare at him, he continues, “You thought I’d be stupid enough not to make one? After what I saw in those files?”

“Justin, please stop…” Brian pleads, trying to capture the blond’s attention, though it’s pointless. Justin is still glaring daggers at Malone, while the man keeps looking at the blond, his face unreadable.

“If you kill us, you’ll never know where it is,” Justin spits at the man’s face.

Malone’s lips curl upward, sending a chill down Brian’s spine. “It’s going to be fun,” he enunciates enigmatically, his eyes almost laughing. “Now,” he pulls out a knife from his pocket and clicks it open, asking Justin, “What part of him should I cut first?”

Understanding dawns on Brian as Malone approaches him and uses the blade to slowly skim the skin of his neck, from left to right. A single drop of blood falls on his chest after the man adds a slight pressure just before removing the knife, while Justin’s face turns paler.

“You really think you can fool me?” Malone resumes, leaning back and beginning to walk around Brian menacingly. “You didn’t make a copy. And even if you did, you’d tell me within five minutes where it is.” With that last statement, Malone slashes Brian’s side in one quick move, causing the brunet to hiss in pain.

“Stop!” Justin shouts, his whole body surging forward, fighting against the restraints.

“That’s the thing about people,” Malone continues, pulling out a tissue and wiping the blood off his knife. He resumes circling around Brian, speaking and gesturing with the knife, completely disregarding what he has just done to the brunet. “I will never understand how someone can be so dependent on another person. It must be exhausting. Although it makes my job easier. Threaten to kill a kid or a partner? People suddenly turn into good little soldiers and obey in an heartbeat. Like your best friend.”

“You’re fucking sick,” Brian mutters, wincing. Glancing over, he catches Justin’s flabbergasted expression as he realizes that Michael is the one who was coerced into shooting Brian.

“Medically, you’re right since, according to my shrink, psychopathy is classified as a personality disorder.” Malone says in that amused tone Brian can’t stand, approaching Justin. “And it’s also why seeing you bleed to death won’t affect me. But it will affect  _ him _ .” 

A small cry escapes Justin’s lips as Malone jerks his head backward. 

“Look at him,” Malone says in the blond’s ear, staring at Brian. “I’m going to make him bleed like a pig if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

“Justin…” Brian murmurs his name, searching the blond’s eyes. He needs to make him understand, make him see he can’t tell Malone what he wants to know. The moment he does, it will be over, Justin’s death sentence signed. Brian will die either way, but the blond may still have a chance to live.

“Look at me…” Brian pleads, the surge of love he feels for the blond overwhelming him. When Justin complies, he shows him without a word, screaming ‘I love you’ with everything he feels. “Don’t tell him. Whatever happens, promise me...”

“Bri-” Justin is crying now, but Malone interrupts them as he strides toward Brian and grabs him forcibly.

“That’s enough,” he announces, pulling Brian’s head backward to expose his throat, pressing the knife against it. “Maybe torturing your true love won’t be as effective as slashing his throat in front of your eyes. I will cut him slowly, so that you can watch what your silence has done to him.”

“No!” Justin cries out.

“You have ten seconds. After that, it will too late,” Malone promises, Brian fighting not to swallow, the blade already pressed too closely against his skin. “Ten… nine… eight… seven…” 

Brian closes his eyes, avoiding the look of despair on Justin’s face. The blond is begging, repeating, “Please, stop…” over and over. Brian braces himself for the moment when the blade will enter his skin while he’s still be conscious and fighting to breathe.

“Six… five…”

He thinks about Michael, about what his friend has gone through because of one unfortunate encounter in Stockwell’s office. Lindsay, Debbie, Emmett, Ted - they will never know he survived that night. Gus will never see his father again. It’s not fair, and he knows without a single doubt that his death won’t end the infernal cycle meeting Malone started. Justin will pay for his silence as well, even though Brian will be gone.

That thought terrifies him. 

“Four… three… two...” The countdown nears the end.

Brian winces when he hears Justin’s desperate cry. “Wait!”

Malone ignores his plea, the blade’s pressure intensifying on Brian’s throat, but as the brunet takes a last breath, Jacquie’s voice resonates in the studio. 

“Malone! Drop the knife! Now!”

Opening his eyes, fighting to get air into his lungs, the first thing Brian sees is Justin’s face. He is a mess, tears running down his cheeks, his gaze reflecting the agony of watching the man he loves about to be killed, although he is also blinking in confusion, not understanding what is happening. Behind him, Special Agent Bennett is standing at the door, her gun aimed at Malone. 

“Don’t you dare, or I’ll shoot your boss,” she warns as the henchman attempts to grab his own weapon. “Place your gun on the floor and slide it over to me now,” she orders, repeating, “Now!” when he doesn’t immediately obey.

The man lowers his weapon and pushes it toward Jacquie, the Afro-American woman catching it with her foot, before leaning down to pick it up, still aiming her gun at Malone. But as she grabs the revolver, the thug pulls out another one.

Jacquie is faster than him. She snatches the one on the floor and fires, and within seconds, he falls to the floor, dead. Malone would no doubt have attempted to take advantage of the situation if the FBI agent hadn’t kept her own gun trained on him the entire time.

Dropping the henchman’s revolver and turning to look at Malone, she barks, “Now, untie them, you psycho. I won’t say it twice. And if you try anything, you’ll join your pal.” 

Brian can’t see Malone’s face, but after a few seconds, the criminal kneels to untie his ankles. Next he grabs his hands, using the knife to saw through the rope around his wrists, cutting his palm in the process. Brian flinches but immediately frees himself, standing up. His legs are shaking, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Malone heads toward Justin. Once he has untied him, he steps back until he is next to Brian. The blond glares at him as he rubs his abused wrists, not standing up immediately, wary that the psycho will try something if he moves.

After a few seconds, Justin directs his gaze at Brian, as Jacquie demands, “Now, slide the knife over here. Slowly…” 

Malone bends down, staring intently at the Afro-american woman, with the knife still in his hands. 

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you,” Jacquie advises sternly. 

Malone tilts his head, and Brian could swear the man’s lips are curved in a slight smile, even though it’s not true. He has just started pushing his weapon in Jacquie’s direction when she makes the mistake of glancing toward the staircase at the sound of steps from the second floor.

“What the…” 

Taking advantage of her brief inattention, Malone grabs Brian’s arm and forces it behind his back, restraining him while using him as a shield. The brunet’s eyes go wide, and he realizes too late that Malone has pulled out a gun, a shot echoing around the studio.

At first, he doesn’t understand what has happened, the sound of the bullet so loud that he instinctively closed his eyes. But then, as he opens them, he sees Jacquie falling backward, into the hallway. Next to her, Connor is standing, covered in blood, staring at her limp body in shock.

“Mr. Decunn… What have you done with my friend Gavin?” Malone asks, stroking the barrel of the gun across Brian’s temple. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Connor doesn’t reply, his eyes fixed on Agent Bennett.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” Malone suggests playfully. “Mr. Taylor, tell me who I should kill first. Him?” He indicates Connor, aiming the gun at him. “Or your boyfriend?”

Brian starts to panic when the blond gets up from his chair and looks behind himself, peering at Jacquie’s immobile body and noting Connor’s vacant gaze, the pallor of his skin standing out against the deep red tainting his clothes.

His shoulders sagging, Justin turns around to face them, giving Brian an apologetic look.

“Don’t…” the brunet pleads, knowing it’s useless. 

“Brian, I’m sorry. I can’t…” Justin stammers, gazing at the brunet, imploring Brian to forgive him for what he’s about to do. Glancing at Malone, he reveals what the man has been after since he found the flash drive a few minutes ago. “There’s no copy. You have everything you wanted. So please… let them go.”

Brian shakes his head, catching the painter’s gaze as Connor finally emerges from his stupor.

“I believe you,” Malone answers Justin’s statement in a cold voice, raising his gun.

“Justin!” Brian screams in sheer terror when he understands what’s going to happen.  He fights to get free but only succeeds in delaying the detonation.

Connor blinks. His eyes widening, he yells, “No!” before running toward Justin and forcefully pushing the blond away. 

Another shot echoes through the room. For a split second, time stands still. Justin has landed on the floor, while Connor stands frozen in front of him, gasping.

The painter blinks. He looks down, raising his hand to his chest as he steps back and falters. When he removes his hand, he stares at his blood-covered fingers in shock, before peering at Brian and collapsing to the floor.   

“Connor!” Justin yells, rushing to his side, immediately pressing his hand to the wound before removing his jacket and using it as a bandage to prevent the painter from bleeding out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Malone curses as Brian tries desperately to escape his grasp, but fails. His blood runs cold as the man murmurs in his ear, “Say goodbye to your true love, Kinney.”

“No!” 

Using all the strength he can muster, Brian tugs on the arm Malone has wrenched behind his back and senses something splintering. He ignores the pain as he gains enough leeway to jerk his shoulder upward, hitting his kidnapper in the chin. Surprised, Malone loosens his grip and takes a step backward.

Emboldened, Brian pivots on his heel and attacks. He ignores the danger, focusing solely on disarming Malone, but he’s unable to maintain his momentum. The pain in his arm, in his side, is too much for him to overcome an opponent who knows how to fight dirty. After a short struggle, Malone pushes Brian’s injured arm against a large window, twisting it nastily. The window cracks when Brian collides with the glass, and he screams in pain, his tormentor putting even more pressure on his arm. 

But just as Brian thinks that Malone will take advantage of his predicament and kill him, he hears the sound of another gunshot. Malone’s grip loosens, and he steps back in surprise.

“What?” He says blankly, dropping the gun to the ground and staring at the hole in his shoulder in amazement.

In the hallway, Jacquie, still lying on the floor, has her pistol pointed at Malone. Brian recoils, his feet colliding with the knife Malone used earlier, abandoned on the floor. 

Malone tries to stop him, but Brian is quicker and picks it up. Verging on madness after what he has just lived through, he lashes out, releasing his pent-up anger over all the years this psycho has stolen from him, the image of Justin’s face as he thought Brian was about to die erasing any lingering doubts.

“Brian!” Justin’s shouts, but he doesn’t listen. He thrusts Malone against the same window where he was held a minute ago. The cracked glass shatters under the impact, sharp pieces cutting them both. Malone struggles, weakened by the injury to his shoulder, which has paralyzed his right arm, and by the sharp piece of glass now planted in his thigh. Managing to get hold of his left arm, Brian pushes it backward, impaling his biceps on a large fragment of glass. This allows the brunet to gain control and take aim with the knife.

Brian sees the exact moment when Malone understands what’s going to happen, his blue eyes suddenly filling with something the brunet has never seen before. It’s a strange mixture of astonishment, anger, and pride. 

“Game over…” Brian leans in, breathing the words quietly into the man’s ear, before stabbing him in one quick move, hearing a gasp escape the man’s lips. 

Malone grips his forearm and squeezes. His grasp slowly loosens, until he starts trembling against Brian. For an instant, it’s like the man wants to say something. His lips are parted, but no sound comes out. He smiles though, not that creepy smile which seemed to be constantly on his lips, but one that chills Brian nonetheless. When it vanishes, his life ebbing away beneath his fingers, Brian feels a rush of anger, despair, and freedom overwhelming him - and he screams and pushes the man out the window.

Malone’s body falls to the ground, twenty feet down.

***

“Christ.” Horvath’s voice breaks the deafening silence that has followed the defenestration. 

Turning around, Brian sees the detective in the doorway, checking Jacquie’s bulletproof vest, but his eyes are immediately drawn to Justin, who is still sitting on the floor a couple yards away, pressing his soaked jacket to Connor’s chest.

Looking up at Brian, tears running down his cheeks, Justin pleads, “Brian…” and peers back down at Connor. Jolting out of his daze, Brian strides over and kneels next to them, hearing Carl say something about an ambulance being on the way. 

“There is too much blood. I don’t know how to make it stop,” the blond cries out as he desperately presses his jacket to the wound.

Brian puts his hands on the painter’s chest, covering Justin’s, while urging hoarsely, “Come on, Connor; don’t you dare die on me.”

Justin takes over, begging Connor to stay awake. As he does, Brian can’t help but think that the painter won’t make it. He is too pale, the slight tremors rippling through his body the only sign that he is alive. Brian’s heart skips a beat when Connor unexpectedly opens his eyes and tries to say something, but he is too weak to speak. Bending over, the brunet places his ear to the painter’s mouth, trying to understand. 

After a few attempts, Brian hears it and leans back, vowing, “I promise I will find him.” He then glances at Justin as they both try to stop the Connor from bleeding out. 

When a paramedic bursts into the room moments later, the blond looks at Brian, urging, “you need to find Gabriel.” Brian nods and gets up, hurriedly walking out of the studio, starting to search for Gabriel.

He finds him in the guest room, barely conscious, his hands tied to the headboard. His right cheek has been slashed. He was stabbed in the side in two different places, but the cuts don’t seem deep. 

“Gabe,” Brian cups his face as soon as he has loosened the ties, forcing Gabriel to look at him. He tries to wake him up fully, but the blond’s eyes keep closing. “I need help here! Right now!” he shouts, embracing Gabriel and murmuring, “You’re going to be okay.” 

For the first time in years, he begins to pray. He rocks his friend’s limp body and whispers, tears filling this eyes, “Everything is going to be okay.”

  
  
  



	23. Waiting for better days

 

**_Harborview Medical Center, Seattle, three days later, Saturday morning…_ **

Mary-Elizabeth is sleeping in a chair, a white blanket covering her small frame.

Justin is sitting by the bed, reading a book. Trying to, as he wants to ignore the beeping of the machines but can’t. It’s driving him crazy, the fear that that sound could falter and still. On the other hand, he hates hearing Connor breathing into a tube and watching his expressionless, bruised face. The painter is usually so full of life. Now, he’s lying still, looking out of place in the hospital bed which seems too big for him.

Justin’s lips turn slightly upward when Brian approaches the bed, his arm in a sling, his clothes hiding the bandages on his side. The brunet smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Any news?” Brian asks quietly. He is observing the tubes, the bandages, the specks of blood on his friend’s arm where a catheter was inserted.

“No,” Justin responds solemnly, closing his book and placing it on the nightstand.

Brian carefully sits on edge of the bed. His voice is hoarse. “I saw Gabriel in the hallway...”

Justin gazes at Brian, noticing the sad look on his face. “Brian…” he trails off, unsure what to say.

Gabriel is not as severely injured as they initially feared. He has a couple of superficial wounds to his side, a lingering headache from being drugged, and a five-inch cut on his face.

But he’s anything except okay.

He hasn’t said a word to Brian since he woke up from his drug-induced coma nearly two days ago. He didn’t look at him once when Horvath explained what had happened at Connor’s house. He didn’t flinch when the detective revealed Liam Byron’s true identity. He didn’t cry, not even when the surgeon told him Connor’s chances of surviving were slim.

He did yell at the hospital staff, driving everyone crazy until they allowed him to sit in Connor’s room. Since then, he’s stayed by the man’s side, though he hasn’t been authorized to move around without the use of a wheelchair.

Justin knows Gabriel is in shock. He was stabbed, albeit shallowly, and the man he loves is fighting to stay alive. It’s already a miracle that Connor isn’t dead, since his heart stopped beating in the ambulance on the way to the clinic. They spent four hours stabilizing him so that a chopper could transport him to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, with extensive surgery then required for him to have any chance of survival. Brian, Justin, and Gabriel wouldn’t even be here, if the FBI hadn’t ordered that all other injured parties be transported to Seattle as well.

Realizing he hasn’t responded to Brian’s allusive comment about Gabriel’s absence, Justin peers at the brunet, hating the somber look on his face. It makes him crazy that Brian is beating himself up over what happened to his friends but, at the same time, he understands. He’d probably feel the same in his position. Hell, he can’t stand knowing Connor took a bullet for him.

“Gabriel’s getting another blood test. They’re verifying the drug has cleared out completely. He also needs to have an MRI.” Justin eventually resumes. At Brian’s concerned stare, he clarifies, “Just in case.”

The brunet nods absentmindedly. “He...” he gestures toward the bed, but whatever he wants to say doesn’t come out.

“This isn’t your fault,” Justin insists, reaching out to grab Brian’s hand. The brunet peers down before gazing back up at his lover. “If you want to play that game, _I_ am the one who found the flash drive.” Justin enunciates slowly, standing up to move closer to Brian, the brunet also getting up. “I am the one who came back to Lakevallée and didn’t guess that they had bugged my phone. I am the one who made this shit happen.”

Brian winces, shaking his head in denial. “Justin…”

“No! You don’t have a monopoly on feeling like crap, Brian.” Justin stops him, speaking agitatedly. “Connor wouldn’t have been shot if not for me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Anytime I look at him, I remember that I should be the one in this bed.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever fucking say that.” Brian says, pulling the blond against him. He shivers slightly as he tightens his good arm around his lover, murmuring, “You should never have had to go through this. None of you.”

Justin pushes Brian back so he can look into his eyes, understanding what Brian is implying, and hating that the brunet can’t let go of his guilt. “Neither should you. Malone, Allen, they are solely responsible for what happened to all of us.”

The brunet glances away. “So, what do we do?” he eventually questions, resting his forehead against the blond’s. “What can we do?”

Justin breathes in his lover’s scent, his fingers lingering on his forearm for a moment. He peers at Mary-Elizabeth, who is still sleeping, not having rested since she arrived two days ago and finally responds, “Be here for Connor’s mother. For Gabriel.”

He feels Brian shaking his head. “Justin, he won’t talk to me.”

“I know,” Justin nods, cupping his lover’s cheeks. “But he needs you.”

Brian nods. He swallows and raises his hand, touching the side of Justin’s face, then the back of his neck.  “You could have died.”

Justin doesn’t respond, thinking about Brian, tied up in the studio. If not for the FBI’s intervention, the blond would have been forced to watch as the man he loves was murdered. Not only is the thought painful, it makes Justin shiver and clutch Brian’s arm, too hard.

Brian reacts by leaning in, covering his lips, needing to feel they’re alive as much as Justin does.

***

**_Saturday afternoon…_ **

Horvath waits, sitting on a bench, watching the occasional ambulance pass by, siren blaring and then fading as the vehicle disappears from view. Five, then ten minutes elapse, before Brian arrives and sits next to him without a word. Carl peers over at him, observing the fading bruises on his face. The hematoma under his right eye is more marked, though, the swelling not having diminished much.

“How are you feeling?” Carl asks, more because he doesn’t know how to start than because he wants an answer; he already knows what the brunet is going to say.

“Like shit,” Brian responds as expected.

Carl nods and takes a deep breath. “Doctor Gant told me you and Justin were discharged after the FBI interrogated you yesterday. Have you left the hospital at all?”

“No.” The answer is sharp, since Brian doesn’t want to talk about why they’re still here. The detective watches the brunet’s jaw clench. He is upset, understandably. With a glance at Horvath, he inquires, “So, has that fucker talked yet?”

“Not really.” Horvath shakes his head, thinking about Jacquie’s confrontation with her former boss the day before. It’s been tough. The truth is, Gavin Allen has barely said anything since he was placed in detention. “But he’s screwed and he knows it. He will talk eventually.”

Brian huffs. “He fooled us for years. Why do you think he’ll talk?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Carl states. “With Malone dead, he has no one to protect him. And by the way, he did admit to bugging Justin’s cell after he had his car accident.”

“That’s why I found it undamaged in the rental when I went to pick it up,” Brian deduces, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.

“Yes. They replaced it with one in which they’d installed a bug capable of tracing, listening to, and monitoring his calls. That’s how they could send him messages and make him think they were from you. That’s also how they knew about the flash drive; Justin called me to tell me he had it, although I couldn’t hear him.”

Brian nods, observing a pedestrian and his golden retriever walking by. Once they’ve gone past, he probes, “Speaking of the flash drive...”

“It wasn’t damaged when Malone fell through the window.” Horvath reassures him. “And like Justin said, it’s full of evidence. Our team is working on it as we speak. It’s huge.”

Brian frowns. “Meaning?”

“Well, Malone was involved not only in art trafficking but, more importantly, in organ trafficking. And his network was massive. Not just the people working for him; he had connections with influential people all over the States, including in Pittsburgh.”

“Who?”

“Stockwell for one.” Horvath reveals. “Unsurprisingly, Malone was the major contributor to his mayoral campaign. We suspect he was also the one who had him killed when Stockwell freaked out, about a month or so after you supposedly died.”

“Really?”

Carl never shared this with Brian before. He never thought it was relevant. “Yes. He contacted me after an ‘anonymous’ tip was released to the press.” the detective discloses, enunciating the word ‘anonymous’ slowly, his expression telling Brian everything he needs to know.

Understanding dawns on Brian’s face. “You?”

“You never heard it from me.” Horvath intones seriously. “And regardless, it didn’t work, since Stockwell died of a sudden heart attack, even though his last medical exam showed he was perfectly healthy.” he scoffs. “Also, his former partner, Kenneth Rickert? He's in the files too. He’s probably the one who killed Jason Kemp, on Stockwell’s order.”

“You mean, on Malone’s order.” Brian clarifies. “That’s why he went to see Jim in his office that day.”

“Yes. There’s also Judge Roy. Remember him?”

“The fucker who assigned Chris Hobbs to community service for assaulting Justin and bashing his brains out?” Brian sneers. “I remember him.”

“Well, Hobbs senior was Malone’s contractor, so he probably interfered in Justin’s trial.” Carl lets the words sink in before looking at him.

The brunet coughs out a dry laugh. He opens his mouth, wanting to say something but then just shakes his head.

“The FBI have gleaned almost eighty names from the list. Malone kept damaging information on every one of them, in case they decided to mess with him.” Horvath continues. “Jacquie and her team are preparing for the largest bust of their careers. Everyone involved in Malone’s network will be arrested at the same time.”

“When?” Brian inquires, knowing exactly what those arrests will mean for him.

Horvath gazes at him. “Wednesday, at ten a.m.”

Brian swallows. “And then…”

“And then, it will be all over the news,” Carl confirms, feeling a surge of sympathy for the man sitting next to him. “Along with the fact that you’re alive.”

Brian signs deeply. “That means Michael…”

Horvath stares at him in surprise. “You know?”

Brian nods, peering down at his lap.

“I thought...” Horvath begins, his brow furrowing in consternation. “...I meant to tell you.”

“Yeah, well. Malone told me.” Brian discloses, placing one elbow on the back of the bench and looking away. “He was happy to throw that in my face. Motherfucker...”

Carl shakes his head. After a few seconds, he reveals, remembering that night, “I found Michael screaming, bent over your body.”

Brian doesn’t respond at first. Then, he asks, his voice barely audible, “Did I ask Michael to kill me?”

Horvath gives him a sympathetic look. “Yes,” he responds. “Michael had received videos of Gus, Ben, Debbie, and Justin. Live videos…”

“You mean…”

“They would have been killed on the spot if Michael hadn’t pulled the trigger.” Horvath confirms.

***

Brian swallows, feeling bile rise up in his throat.

Horvath sits in silence next to him. The brunet doesn’t know how long they stay like that, not moving or saying anything.

“I waited too long to go looking for you that night. I’m sorry, son.” the cop eventually apologizes.

Brian shakes his head. He needs more time to process Michael’s involvement that night, though now that he has the facts, he feels restless and on edge. He has mixed feelings about Carl withholding this information until now. “What happened to Michael?” he finally inquires.

“Agent Bennett took him to a safe house for the night, while I called an ambulance and had you transported to the ER. You were in surgery for hours. When the doctors told us you would likely never come out of your coma, we had you transferred to a private facility owned by the FBI.” Horvath reports. “Since we wanted to protect you and your family from Malone, the few people who saw you during the transfer were sworn to secrecy. And everyone else was told you were dead. Including Michael.”

“You shouldn't have-” Brian begins, but Carl cuts him off.

“I know what you’re thinking. But believe me, if Michael had known you were alive, Malone would have too.” At Brian’s puzzled glance, he specifies, “Remember that psycho had connections everywhere. He loved to make people suffer and with Michael… well, let’s say Malone probably bought your death immediately.”

“What do you mean?” Brian questions quizzically.

“Michael was… grieving.” the detective shares. “Jacquie and I made sure that he wasn’t arrested, and I tried to be here for him as much as I could, but... he went through… rough times, and I...” he gazes away.

Brian peers over at Carl, his chest constricting. He ignores the unsettling feelings overwhelming him, acknowledging the detective feels guilty. He always has. “You could never have predicted that Malone would threaten my family to make my best friend shoot me.”

“I’m a cop, Brian,” Carl counters. “I should have sensed that Malone would try something that night.”

“You’re no psychic,” Brian refutes. “Maybe you should have consulted Mysterious Marilyn, though.”

That joke makes Carl’s lips curl upward, barely. “You’re ready to resume your life?” he inquires compassionately.

“No,” Brian responds honestly.

Carl pats his thigh. “You can survive anything, son. And this time…” he smiles. “This time, you have Justin with you. And soon, you will have your family back.”

The detective gets up from the bench and then pauses, looking back at Brian and proclaiming, “If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you.”

Brian watches him walk away.

***

The brunet remains on the bench long after Horvath has left.

He thinks about things, about his life. His most cherished dream has come true; after Wednesday, he’ll be able to see his friends, reconnect with his family, his son. He should be ecstatic, but he’s terrified. Terrified they won’t welcome him back into their lives, that they won’t forgive him for staying away for so long, for letting them believe he was dead and buried. Justin may have forgiven him, but he loves him. He’s seen, first-hand, what his life has been like. He’s been there, witnessing his nightmares, grasping the depth of the trauma he went through. But his friends in Pittsburgh; they don’t know. They won’t know. Once they discover he is alive, they’ll probably expect the Brian Kinney they knew to return, and he can’t give them that.

When he thinks about his son, it’s even worse. How can a child accept his father abandoning him? Gus won’t understand that words like ‘keeping you safe’ really matter, because a parent should never leave a child. Not if he wants to have a place in his life.

And Michael. Brian isn’t sure how he feels about him. He doesn’t blame his childhood friend for what he did per se - if Michael hadn’t acted, more people probably would have died. And yet, it’s not that simple, because he can’t forget, even though he knows how devastated Michael was.

To say his emotions are a total mess doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Can I join you?” Gabriel’s voice jolts him from his thoughts.

Brian looks up. He didn’t hear his friend approaching, not even the sound of his wheelchair on the pavement. He isn’t sure what Gabriel saw on his face a moment ago, but there is a kindness in his countenance that wasn’t there the last time they encountered each other.

“Mary-Elizabeth told me to get lost.” the blond declares, breaking the silence between them. His voice is tired.

“She didn’t say that.” Brian refutes, knowing Connor’s mother would never use those words. She must be worried about the blond not leaving her son’s side, though, and Brian is grateful she succeeded in making Gabriel take a break when no one else could.

“No, she didn’t...” Gabriel breaks off, looking away, gathering courage for whatever he wants to say.

Brian briefly peers at his friend. He aches to give him a reason to believe that Connor is going to be okay. But he just waits, staring into the distance.

“I’ve tried to figure out how... I feel about… about you lying to me all this time.” Gabriel begins, almost stammering.

The brunet feels that rush of anxiety again. It seems it’s all he feels these days. He looks over at the blond, and sees a deep sadness in his eyes.

“Gabe…” he says his friend’s name, though his voice is barely audible because of the constriction in his throat.

“No, hear me out.” Gabriel cuts him off. “It’s like... I don’t know who you are. Three days ago I thought I had this friend, a guy who grew up in New York, buried his parents there, and had this… obscure life before settling in Lakevallée. But then I found out it was all bullshit.”

Brian shakes his head. Sure, he lied but their friendship has always been real. “My cover was bullshit,” he argues, hoping Gabriel will understand what he means.

He does. Their eyes lock, Gabriel’s sad gaze softening as he states, “I’ll have to call you Brian now.”

“Not my fault my mom couldn’t come up with anything more original.” Brian shrugs before intoning loudly, “May she rest in peace.”

“She’s really dead?” Gabriel inquires.

“She passed away last week,” Brian replies, done with the lies.

Gabriel’s eyes widen in surprise. For a moment, Brian thinks he’s going to spout the same old condolences everyone feels obligated to share but, instead, the blond peers down at his hands, nervously entwining his thumbs. Clearing his throat, he stills and looks back up. “What was it like?”

“Huh?”

“Having to lie to everyone?” Gabriel specifies.

Brian doesn’t quite know what to say, what his friend expects to hear. “I hated it. But it’s not like I had a fucking choice.”

“It must have been tough.” Gabriel comments, glancing away.

Brian hears a catch in his friend’s voice, showing him what he already knows. Gabriel does care about him. Brian will probably question what he did to earn his friendship for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out, not realizing until now how much he has needed to say those words.

“Don’t.” Gabriel shakes his head. “I’m confused and, yeah, kind of angry at you, but don’t apologize. You didn’t ask for a psycho to put a target on your back. Connor didn’t either.”

At the mention of the painter, Brian immediately volunteers, “He’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” Gabriel denies, taking a deep breath in an effort to keep his emotions under control.

Brian wouldn’t mind it if he broke down, but he suspects Gabriel won’t, probably afraid of being unable to stop. All the brunet can do is give him hope, and fucking pray for Connor to be alright. “No, I don’t. But I do know he is the most resilient, stubborn sonofabitch I know. If anyone can make it, it’s him.”

“I hope you’re right.” Gabriel nods, before adding, obviously avoiding further talk about Connor, “You and Justin should get some rest.”

Brian immediately refuses. “No, we…”

“Li-… Brian,” Gabriel corrects himself. He peers over at Brian and promises, “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Mary Elizabeth is here, too.” Gabriel counters. “At least leave the hospital for a couple of hours. There’s no need for all four of us to babysit Connor.”

“Okay,” Brian relents, “if I can convince Justin.”

“I’ll talk to him. He won’t refuse then,” Gabriel proposes drily, maneuvering his wheelchair backward as Brian gets up from the bench.

Brian gives him a slight nod. “Gabe,” he raises his voice as his friend heads toward the hospital entrance. Gabriel halts, looking over his shoulder at Brian. “He’s going to be okay.” the brunet reiterates.

Gabriel stares at him. Then, he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply a couple of times, but it’s pointless; he can’t contain his emotions. Brian approaches him and kneels, pulling him to his chest with his good arm as his friend begins to sob.  

***

**_Three hours later..._ **

The door squeaks when Justin enters the hotel room. Brian closes it behind them, and stands there, watching the blond walk to the bed and sit down.

A few seconds later, he joins his lover, although he immediately lies down. Justin peers down at him and gives him a small smile, as Brian holds out his uninjured arm in invitation.

They don’t talk. Brian stares at the ceiling, playing with Justin’s hair, while the blond buries his nose in the crook of his neck and caresses his skin, tracing his collarbone with his fingers.

A long moment passes before Justin moves to lie on top of Brian, carefully enveloping the brunet in his arms. They hug and then begin to kiss.

It doesn’t last. Brian stops the blond, placing a hand on his cheek so he’ll lean back. The blond is crying. “Justin,” he murmurs before covering his lips again, feeling like his chest is going to explode.

“I love you so much,” Justin breathes out against his lips. He could say more, try to explain how he feels after everything they have lived through; ten days ago, he believed that Brian was gone forever.

He doesn’t say anything though. Brian pushes him off his body, rolls him onto his back, and kisses him again.

Leaning back, the brunet tugs at their clothing with one hand, the look in Justin’s eyes urging him on as he shows him with every touch and every look how he feels. When they’re both naked, the blond immediately rolls Brian over and draws his lover to him, clasping his body against his own as he claims his lips forcibly. They grunt and moan, rubbing together, devouring every bit of skin they can reach.

Justin slides down Brian’s body and takes him in his mouth. The brunet gasps as he does. The blond licks the skin, tracing it with his tongue before starting to move up and down, enthralled by the sight of Brian’s body undulating beneath him.

Later, when Justin takes hold of Brian’s shaft and positions himself, the expression on the brunet’s face shows he won’t be able to last. His body, his emotions, are out of control. He keeps kissing Justin, every part of him he can reach without putting too much pressure on his injured arm and side. There is a desperation in every one of their caresses, cemented by the ordeal they have shared.

The sight of his lover’s pleasure sends a fresh jolt of arousal through Brian. Leaning on one elbow, the brunet begins to propel his hips upward slowly, both men gasping each time he fully penetrates the blond. He feels Justin tightening on his cock and thrusts harder in response. A sudden stab of pain in his arm forces him to slow down, so he lets Justin rides him. They’re both sweaty and breathless.

Justin’s moans get stronger. The brunet gasps, elation spreading to every cell in his body, his hand closing around Justin’s dick. He jerks him off until his lover climaxes beneath his fingers, his warm come running down his hand as he feels each pulsation of the blond’s orgasm around his shaft. Gripping his thigh, holding the blond firmly in place, he thrusts a couple more times.

He freezes deep inside him and comes, the delicious ecstasy overpowering the pain in his side and throbbing arm.

 

 

 


	24. Breaking news

 

**_Pittsburgh, Wednesday, August 5th, 1:10 p.m._ **

A banner which reads ‘breaking news’ flashes across the bottom of the TV screen. At first no one pays attention to it. The guys sitting in the booths keep gossiping, waiting for their food and sipping at their drinks, while Debbie is busy wiping off clean coffee cups. 

Emmett is at the counter, swirling his spoon around in his iced tea and observing Debbie’s incessant activity. Michael is sitting next to him, sipping his Diet Coke as they wait for their meals to be served, and watching his mom with a frown.

“Ma has been in a mood since her favorite cop was a no-show last Friday,” he murmurs, leaning closer to Emmett.

Having overheard her son’s observation, Debbie refutes, “I’m not in a mood,” and wipes off the counter right in front of them, effectively forcing the two men to pick up their drinks, placemats, and silverware. “I’m worried, that’s all. Horvath hasn’t missed a single Friday in almost six years.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He probably took a few days off is all,” Michael suggests, placing the Coke back on the counter and catching the straw between his lips.

“You don’t know that!” Debbie retorts, throwing  the rag over her shoulder, looking incensed. “What if he’s sick, huh? He has nobody at home.”

“Why don’t you call him already? Don’t you have his number?” Michael inquires, peeved by his mother’s over-the-top behavior.

“Michael…” Emmett calls out, interrupting their exchange by placing a hand on his arm. 

Michael looks over at his friend, noticing his gaze is fixed on the TV playing above their heads. 

“What…” he begins to ask, but the sudden constriction in his throat prevents him from continuing as his eyes fall on a picture of his deceased best friend on the TV screen. Brian looks the same as he always did, young and beautiful with that slight smirk on his face. Vaguely, he hears his mom shouting, “Turn the volume up!” while memories of the brunet overwhelm him.

“...  _ learned today that eighty arrests have been made, making it the largest bust in FBI history since the Arnold Heinstein affair back in 1996. Among those arrested are a few prominent citizens from Pittsburgh. They have been accused of complicity in a large organ trafficking network. We have also just been informed that a man who was supposedly shot and killed in 2003, and whose murder remained unsolved, helped the FBI to apprehend the head of the network, a man responsible for more than a hundred murders in the last decade.”  _ Another photo joins Brian’s picture on the screen. _ “Harry Malone, an apparently reputable businessman, was killed last week in Lakevallée, Montana. For years, the authorities have suspected Mr. Malone of orchestrating various criminal activities, including - in addition to organ trafficking - art and drug trafficking, fraud...” _

Michael doesn’t even realize that he has stood up, or that his stool has fallen to the floor. The only thing he is aware of is  _ his _ face. The reporter keeps talking, the picture of Brian morphing into a video of a man heading toward a hospital entrance - the scrolling text at the bottom of the TV screen indicates it’s Harborview Medical Center in Seattle - and zooming in on four people. Michael’s throat closes even more as he recognizes three of them. Horvath is talking to FBI Agent Bennett, who helped Michael  _ that _ night, and Justin is standing with his hand on a man’s back, talking to another blond man.

“Holy shit...” His mom’s voice resonates in Michael’s ear. The newscaster continues speaking, the camera panning in for a close-up of the man’s face, which sports a bushy beard shot through with a few strands of gray, thick-framed glasses, and an Aston-style cap pulled down over his forehead. He immediately moves, using his hand to shield his face from the camera as he enters the hospital with Justin.

_ “...Detective Carl Horvath of the Pittsburgh P.D. has revealed that thirty-eight-year-old Brian Kinney was actually shot in 2003, but survived the assault and entered the witness protection program so he could elude Malone’s notice. During Malone’s confrontation with Kinney, which ultimately led to the felon’s death, Connor Decunn, an artist from Lakevallée, was severely injured and is still in critical...” _

“No…” Michael breathes out, feeling like his world is crashing down as he tries to comprehend what he’s just heard, but fails. Brian can’t be alive. He knows he can’t, because he was there. He was the one who killed him, who shot him dead in that parking garage. 

Five years. Five years, ten months, and eight days of carrying the guilt of Brian’s death, of trying to redeem himself even though he has always known he will never be able to forgive himself. He wanted to die back then. A month after that night at the precinct, he almost did, Ben finding him on the bathroom floor after he’d swallowed too many pills. He was institutionalized for weeks as a result, refusing to talk to anyone - including his partner - taking advantage of the fact that everybody thought he was having a breakdown because Brian had been murdered. Only two people knew the truth.

One of them showed up at the psych yard, almost two months after his suicide attempt. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Michael groused when Carl entered his room on a snowy Monday afternoon. The comic store owner didn’t want to talk, especially to the detective who’d found him, bent over his friend’s body and refusing to let go.

“Son,” Carl said when Michael averted his eyes, walking to the window so that he could look outside and pretend the detective wasn’t there, “you can’t do this to him.”

Michael shook his head, hating that his eyes moistened so easily. 

“You can’t do this to Brian.” Carl repeated, coming to stand next to him and gazing at him with a kindness Michael couldn’t abide. 

“Brian is dead,” Michael retorted, “because of me.”

“No,” Carl denied, reaching out to touch his arm compassionately. “You never wanted this to happen. They didn’t leave you any choice. Brian _ … _ didn’t leave you any choice.”

“How do you know that?” Michael resisted the sympathy, wiping the tears off his face. 

“I saw you on the video surveillance, Michael,  _ both _ of you. I know he begged you to kill him. Why do you think Agent Bennett let you go after we found you with him?” Carl questioned deliberately. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have known something was wrong when Brian didn’t come back from his smoke break. By the time I checked the security footage to locate him, it was too late.”

Michael heard the hint of regret in Carl’s voice. Frowning, he peered over at the detective, murmuring, “But…”

“Michael,” Carl interrupted him, capturing his gaze before enunciating, “you have a partner. You have a life. Brian gave his life for you - for your family. He would be so angry if he knew you were thinking of throwing everything away because of what happened to him, letting  _ them _ win.” he concluded, emphasizing the last part so Michael would understand that fighting to keep that from happening was the best way to honor Brian’s memory. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to catch the guys responsible for his death, if you promise me you’ll let him go.”

“I… I shot my best friend,” Michael responded, stating out loud the horror of what he had done, because he didn’t know how to live with that truth. 

“That was not your fault.” Horvath stated firmly. “Don’t let his death be for nothing, Michael. Don’t let them take more from your family than they already have.”

Retrospectively, Michael knows that without Carl’s intervention, he would have given up the fight to keep living. He may never have wanted Brian to die, may have begged his friend to spare him the burden of being the one to survive, but in the end, he was the one who pulled the trigger. He was there, hearing the shot, seeing his friend fall to the cold cement, watching him bleed. He was the one who screamed, who fell apart because he’d killed the man he worshipped for so many years, the brother he never had. The pain he felt, the guilt, crushed him for months, driving him mad with grief. 

Horvath’s intervention saved him. Shortly after his visit, Michael left the psych ward and agreed to go with Emmett to a fairy camp. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened there. All he remembers is eating a mushroom and talking to Brian.

He begged for his forgiveness. He saw the brunet smiling at him. He cried, holding onto the ghost of his friend until exhaustion caught up with him, and he woke up alone, in the middle of the camp, next to a dying fire.

He decided to move on that day, to do all he could to honor Brian’s life, to make him proud. He talked to him every day, sometimes when he did foolish things and thought that Brian would have teased him unmercifully if he was still there, and sometimes when he was scared and needed his best friend.

And one day, Hunter entered his life. Occasionally, Michael wonders if Brian somehow led the kid to him and Ben, because from the day he met the hustler, his life began to fix itself.

Though now, as he hyperventilates in the middle of the diner, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.

***

**_Thirty minutes later,_ ** **_Renaissance Hotel, Pittsburgh..._ **

Brian stares at his reflection in the mirror, at his shorter hair which has just returned to its natural color. He leans in, tracing the fading bruises on his face, sensing a small cut beneath his fingers. He barely detaches his gaze from hazel eyes, still hidden behind large glasses.

He takes them off and stares again. Passing his hand through his beard, he then stays still for a long moment. He hesitates before picking up the scissors from the counter next to the sink, halting as he realizes his hand is trembling. He finally grabs them and begins to clip at the hair, although he can only use one hand since he’s still wearing the sling. When he closes his eyes for some reason, the scissors slice into his skin, making him wince.

There are drops of blood in the sink when he opens his eyes. Brian swallows, turning on the tap and watching the blood and facial hair vanish down the drain. He lets the water run, the sound strangely too loud.

He reaches for the shaving cream, frowning when he realizes he can’t depress the nozzle and collect the foam at the same time.

“Let me,” Justin says as he walks into the bathroom, applying the shaving cream to Brian’s cheeks and chin. The blond grabs the razor and begins to slide the blade across his skin, not stopping until all the facial hair is gone. 

Justin hands him a towel. Brian splashes some water on his face, several times, and turns the tap off. He dries his face and lets the towel drop to the floor. Bracing one hand on the edge of the sink, his heart thumping in his chest, he forces himself to breathe as slowly as he can, and look up. Once he does, he is unable to remove his gaze from a visage he barely recognizes.

“Brian…” 

The sound of his lover’s voice startles him. Justin’s arms slide across his shoulders and roam over his uninjured arm from behind, his breath tickling his skin.

He meets the blond’s gaze in the mirror. Justin tightens his hold around his waist and kisses the side of his neck.

“You’re beautiful,” the blond says quietly.

Brian lets out a nervous laugh, thinking that six years ago, the man he sees in the mirror - a man who is supposed to officially come back to life in a few hours - would have responded with a smug, ‘I know.’ 

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he replies instead, disengaging himself from Justin’s embrace as he pivots on his heel to face his lover, although he avoids his gaze. 

“What do you mean?” Justin asks gently.

“I don’t…” Brian tries to explain, but stops. Inhaling deeply, he shares simply, gazing down, “I’m scared shitless, Justin.”

“Hey... look at me.” Justin demands, trying to get Brian to return his gaze. When the brunet closes his eyes instead, fighting to get a grip on his emotions, he insists, almost begging, “Brian, look at me.” 

Brian caves. He glances up at Justin, struck by the compassion and love in those blue eyes. 

“You’re a survivor.” Justin claims. “Against all odds, you’ve managed to live through a nightmare and, most of all, you never gave up. You sacrificed yourself for us.”

“No, I…” Brian attempts to deny Justin’s statement, but the blond refuses to listen.

“Maybe you don’t realize it,” he continues, “but it took courage, and it took strength. Sure, you’re afraid that your friends won’t forgive you, but they will.” 

Brian shakes his head. “You don’t know that.” He tries to move away from Justin, but the blond doesn’t let him, grabbing his arm.

“They will.” he repeats emphatically. “It might take time, but how could they not? And yes, the news that you’re alive will probably come as a shock. Maybe Michael will…” Justin trails off and touches the brunet’s waist, letting his arm fall to his side when Brian doesn’t move. “It’s going to be tough. But I know, I  _ know _ , how they felt when you were gone, and believe me, you being alive is the greatest gift you can give them.”

Brian stares at Justin because his voice isn’t steady anymore. 

“You can’t…” the blond pauses before adding, “...you can’t imagine how it feels to live in a world... where you’re buried in the cold earth. To wake up from a dream where we made love only to realize that you’re no longer here. That you’re no longer anywhere, no longer breathing… Do you have the slightest idea, Brian…”

“Justin,” the brunet whispers his name.

Justin ignores him. “... of the man I became after you died? The pathetic addict I turned into, because I needed to stop feeling that fucking pain?”

Brian can’t speak as he listens to his lover opening up.

“Once I started using, I yearned for the numbness the drugs provided more than anything in the world. Nothing else mattered. I needed…” Justin shakes his head, clarifying, “I  _ craved _ the feeling the next fix would give me. I didn’t give a shit about overdosing. I probably wanted to at first, but after a while I was too far gone to care one way or another. I didn’t even think about you anymore, Brian. I just… spent my days trying to find the money to buy more. Always more. You’d become an excuse for my pathetic, miserable addiction. If not for Ben and Michael...”

Brian pulls the blond against his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Justin shakes his head, enunciating, “No.” Leaning back, he wipes the tears off his face, blinking a couple of times. “Never apologize for what that psycho did, you hear me? Never apologize again.” 

Brian doesn’t respond verbally, simply pulling Justin back into a hug. 

***

He doesn’t know how much time passes with the two of them standing still, not moving and barely breathing, before he hears his phone ringing. 

Reluctantly breaking their embrace, Brian covers Justin’s lips, certain the blond knows what he means with that kiss, before stepping back and heading to the bedroom. 

Picking up his phone from the bed, he answers tiredly, “Kinney,” and plops down onto the mattress.

“Brian. It’s Carl.” the detective greets him. “We have a situation.”

“What?” Brian inquires nervously, observing Justin as he walks out of the bathroom and comes to stand in front of him, a questioning look on his face.

“Unfortunately, the news of you being alive was announced on TV earlier than we anticipated.” Horvath drops the bomb. “I’ve just received a call from Debbie, and...”

“And what?” Brian pushes, his anxiety rising tenfold, as Justin kneels in front of him, placing his hands on his lap.

“She knows.” Carl confirms Brian’s fear. “Emmett Honeycutt, too.” 

“Okay,” the brunet breathes out, his brow furrowing. If both Debbie and Emmett are aware that he is alive, it’s only a matter of minutes before the rest of the gang hears about it. “Where are they?”

Horvath hesitates, but eventually answers, “At the E.R.”

A rush of adrenaline runs through Brian’s body as he echoes incredulously, “The E.R.?”

“Michael was with them at the diner,” Horvath explains, before clarifying, “He… he had a panic attack.”

Brian sighs deeply, squinting his eyes shut. Horvath was supposed to prep Michael to receive the news about his being alive this afternoon. They stayed in Seattle with Gabriel and Connor’s mother until a few hours ago, the FBI not allowing any of them to return to the Pitts sooner. It shouldn't have been a problem since the press was supposed to release the news of Brian’s ‘resurrection’ in the evening, but the FBI obviously failed to contain a leak. The brunet can’t begin to imagine what his former best friend must have felt like, learning from a random news report that the man he thought he’d killed was alive.

“Where?” Brian asks curtly, “Where is he?”

“Allegheny.” Horvath responds. “I’m on my way. I’ll fill everyone in as soon as I get there.”

“I’ll see you there.” Brian replies, before ending the call. “Fuck!” he curses loudly, rubbing his face. 

“What?” Justin probes, standing up to allow Brian to move.

“Michael knows. He’s at Allegheny.” Brian relates, as he strides over to the desk and snatches the key card and his wallet from it. “We need to go.”

Justin immediately follows him, the two men hastily leaving the suite. Brian disregards the elevator and runs down the stairs leading to the reception, the blond’s steps echoing behind him.

***

Justin watches Brian hailing a cab on the sidewalk, cursing when the first one doesn’t pull over, his eyes immediately searching for the next one.

In the cab a few minutes later, Brian gazes out the window. It’s like he’s not even there anymore. Justin covers his hand and intertwines their fingers, relieved when Brian pulls him closer and kisses his temple.

“Michael is going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” Brian breathes out against his skin. “Horvath was supposed to talk to him.”

Justin squeezes Brian’s hand in support.

They arrive at Allegheny General Hospital twenty minutes later, though Brian stills after sliding out of the vehicle. Motionless in the parking lot, he stares at the building in front of them. Justin gazes at it too, his anxiety rising since he knows this is going to be a turning point for both of them. 

He then returns his gaze to Brian and waits for his lover to look at him. He gives him a slight nod of encouragement when he does. Brian takes a deep breath and raises his hand, waiting for Justin to clasp it.

Right after they enter the hospital, Brian asks at the front desk for an update on Michael Novotny, and is informed his friend has been moved to the third floor, room 319. Absentmindedly thanking the receptionist, Brian tugs on the blond’s hand and strides toward the elevator. Once inside, he releases Justin, leaning against the support rail. The sound of the door sliding closed behind him and Justin and the motor whirring are the only things to disturb the deafening silence. 

Justin’s heart is thumping as the elevator halts with a slight bounce. The doors open onto a large space leading into the medical ward, a nurse walking by with a cart barely glancing at them. The blond instinctively places a reassuring hand on Brian’s arm.

They advance down the corridor to the waiting area. Brian’s steps slow down as they near it, and Justin can tell he wants to stop, to step back and run away. He won’t, though, since it would only delay the inevitable and make things more difficult - Brian would never be able to leave without knowing Michael is okay. 

When Brian halts right before they reach the waiting area, Justin takes a couple more steps, looking through one of the decorative panels before immobilizing in front of the six people in the room. 

Horvath is already there - and must have confirmed the rumor regarding Brian being alive. He is holding Debbie in his arms. Glancing past him, Justin notices Emmett talking in hushed tones to Blake and Ted, who is himself casting worried looks at Lindsay. She is leaning against the wall a few feet away, obviously upset. 

“Lindsay,” Justin calls out mindlessly. He gazes at his lover, who’s still standing further back in the corridor, and then back at the mother of Brian’s only child.

She stares at him in surprise when he says her name. Justin isn’t sure what he sees on her face. She looks sad, and angry, and probably hopeful and scared, though it’s hard to discern what she’s thinking. Tears run down her cheeks as soon as she looks at him, and for a moment, Justin fails to realize all eyes in the room are on him.

“Sunshine?” It’s Debbie who addresses him, detaching herself from Horvath’s embrace and wiping the moisture from her eyes, her wig in disarray. Justin directs his gaze at her, and again, feels that rush of restlessness. “What are you…” she asks, taking a couple of steps in his direction.

She gasps as she glances past him, the astounded look on her face revealing that Brian is now standing right behind him.

“Oh my God,” Lindsay exclaims, scooting closer to Emmett, who claps his hand to his mouth. Even Ted looks stunned, seeking comfort in his partner’s touch.

Justin moves back to grab Brian’s hand, the brunet immediately squeezing hard. 

Time stands still. The blond doesn’t know how many seconds elapse with all of them staring in astonishment at the man they thought they would never see again. As for Brian, he avoids their gaze, crushing Justin’s hand like he would crumble if he wasn’t there.

Debbie is the first one to approach them, stopping in front of Brian. He refuses to meet her gaze, but she raises her hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at her. When he does, locking eyes with her, she can't refrain and lets out a sob.

He closes his eyes, overwhelmed. She cups his cheeks, smiling bashfully, a type of smile Justin has never seen on her face. 

“You asshole,” she says fondly.

Brian laughs dryly, opening his eyes to look at her. 

She stares at his face, at the fading bruises, the sling, fresh tears running down her cheeks. She swallows hard and tentatively embraces him, careful not to hurt him, but also as if she’s afraid he isn’t really there. 

Once she feels him in her arms, she loses her composure and tightens her embrace, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real. We’ve missed you so much.” She is shaking. “ _ I’ve _ missed you so much, kiddo… so fucking much...”

Justin feels a squeezing in his chest, watching Brian wrap his good arm around her.

“Hey…” the brunet whispers, “Careful, Ma. I didn’t come back only for you to smother me so soon.”

Debbie laughs, and hugs him some more. After several seconds, she steps back, still holding his hand. Her eyes travel along his injured arm. Her breathing quickens and she looks up at Brian, placing the palm of her hand on his cheek, as if needing to keep touching him to ensure he is really alive.

“It’s a miracle,” she declares. Glancing over at Justin, she demands, “Come here, you little shit,” and pulls the blond to her, without letting go of Brian’s hand.

The brunet directs his gaze at Ted, Emmett, and Blake. Looking beyond them, his eyes fall on Lindsay, who has remained a few yards away. She is staring right at him, silently wiping the tears off her face, though they keep falling.

“Hey, Wendy.” The edge in Brian’s voice is unmistakable.

Lindsay shakes her head before covering the small space separating them, throwing herself against Brian’s chest.

  
  
  
  



	25. Together

 

**_Allegheny Hospital,Wednesday, August 5th, 6:20 p.m._ **

Brian advances toward room 319, feeling both numb and on edge. Numb because he has no idea how to respond normally to what he is about to face, while anxiety eats at his insides and makes his gut roil. Halting in front of the door, he blinks, staring at the number, almost regretting turning Justin down when the blond offered to go with him. Now that only a door separates him from his former best friend, he’d love to run away. 

He doesn’t know how to feel. For the past few days, he has tried to figure out how he should be acting. Objectively, he knows Michael had no other choices. Debbie, Justin, Gus, Ben - they would all have been killed that night if Michael had left the parking garage without finding the courage to pull the trigger. Moreover, it’s a given that Malone would have finished what Michael didn't. Without Horvath’s intervention, the homicidal maniac would have used Michael as a scapegoat no matter the outcome.

Sometimes, Brian thinks he will be able to forget. Other times, he fears their relationship has been irremediably damaged, and it terrifies him, to know Malone could win one more time. He doesn’t want him to win, but he isn’t sure he will be strong enough to move on.

Sighing, he stands there, in front of that door, listening to the sound of wheels behind him as an orderly pushes a cart down the corridor, and to a woman’s voice a couple of rooms away as she complains querulously to a staff member. And suddenly, he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in six years, sounding angry and scared. 

He isn’t supposed to hear that voice. Horvath went to talk to Ben while Brian was still in the waiting room twenty minutes ago, and informed him that Michael had been given a sedative a couple of hours ago and would most likely be asleep. Brian therefore thought he would have more time before facing him. Honestly, he is not prepared for this, probably never will be.

Exhaling, his heart thumping in his chest, he braces his hands against the door, as Michael shouts, “I don’t care what Horvath says. He must be lying!” 

He instantly understands what he’s implying and the truth is, hearing his friend deny he is alive feels like a slap to his face. Brian winces and lowers his head, resisting the urge to give up. 

Yet, when Ben’s worried voice asks incredulously, “Why do you think that?” Brian acknowledges he can’t leave. Running away won’t accomplish anything, apart from rendering everyone suspicious about Michael’s current meltdown. 

He therefore breathes deeply a couple of times to calm himself before opening the door a sliver, and peering into the room. 

The two men don’t notice him. They’re too lost in their argument, with Michael avoiding his husband’s stare, while Ben is watching him, standing by the window, looking hurt and puzzled at the same time as he resumes, “I don’t get it. You of all people should be ecstatic to hear that Brian is alive.”

Brian directs his gaze at Michael sitting on the bed, facing Ben. The man is dressed, a bag open next to him. When Michael turns his head to the side to throw something into the bag, allowing him to see his face, Brian almost steps back. 

He looks older, sadder than he remembers. Brian instantly sees the ravages of his death in every wrinkle and line on his forehead, at the corners of his eyes, and around his mouth. His expression is one Brian has never seen before.

“It’s not Brian,” Michael refutes. “why is that so hard to understand?” 

“How can you be so sure?” Ben insists, taking a step in Michael’s direction, pausing when his lover scoots back on the bed. 

“Because…” Michael gazes down. When he looks up, angry tears are running down his cheeks. “He fucking died because of me, don’t you get it?”

If Brian ever wondered what killing him had done to his childhood friend, looking at the man at this instant would give him all the answers he needs. After six years of living without him, Michael is completely racked with guilt. 

The man stands up, unaware he is being watched. “Are you really...” He stops and sways on his feet, ignoring the hand his partner holds out, and steadies himself against the wall behind the bed. 

Brian is about to move, when Michael resumes, lashing out, “Are you so fucking blind that you can’t see your husband is a  _ murderer _ ?”

Brian whispers a quiet “no,” though no one hears him.

“And so what if I was coerced into killing my best friend? I did it. I did it! And-”

“Michael, stop.” Brian states firmly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

Michael freezes. A strange sound escapes his lips. When he finally peers over at Brian, he pales, staring at him as if seeing a ghost, which couldn’t be closer to the truth.

Brian feels Ben’s gaze on him, but can’t look away from Michael. In a split second, he sees a myriad of emotions in those deep brown eyes, so much so that everything he thought he would say or do when facing Michael for the first time no longer matters. The feelings of betrayal, the sorrow at finding out he was shot by his best friend, all of it is gone. All he can see is the guy he met when he was fourteen, the boy he went to when his father beat the shit out of him. The man who lived with the burden of killing his best friend for six years.

“It’s impossible…” Michael shakes his head. 

Brian walks tentatively toward him, but stills when Michael steps back. 

“You’re dead! You can’t…”

Brian walks closer, “I didn’t die.” he says quietly. “I’m alive.”

“But you… you were dead.” Michael starts to breathe too quickly, and Brian sees the exact moment when his friend reaches the wrong conclusion. He moves back and hits the wall behind him, stammering, “I… I don’t understand. If you’re alive, it means... you knew you’d survive? You used me to-”

“No! Of course not!” Brian cuts him off, horrified that Michael could think he’d be that cruel; although he understands - as absurd as it is - why he has to ask whether his death was orchestrated. He shouldn't have survived that night, and reappearing after six years of silence is not the easiest thing to explain to the man who was forced to shoot him. 

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Michael screams. “You were dead! I killed you! I fucking killed you!”

Brian feels a pang in his chest as Michael crumbles to the floor, too emotionally drained to stay upright. Seeing him so devastated makes the brunet want to kill Malone all over again. 

Casting a worried glance at Ben, Brian notices the man is flabbergasted, his eyes riveted on his husband. Ben gazes at him, but Brian shakes his head before looking back at Michael, who is now curled up against the wall. 

“Michael,” he says softly, kneeling next to him. 

The man resists acknowledging him. “You were dead…” 

“Michael, look at me…” Brian tentatively touches his arm, his friend immediately flinching and refusing to lift his head. “Please, look at me.”

Michael is shaking. “Don’t touch me.” he protests, sobbing harder.

“Look at me,” Brian says again, as gently as he can.

“I can’t…” Michael breathes out, hyperventilating, “Brian, I can’t…”

Hearing Michael utter his name, Brian can’t stay still any longer. Not caring whether his friend will freak out or struggle or even punch him, he pulls Michael against him, wrapping his good arm around his shoulders and hugging him as tight as he can, professing, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He isn’t sure exactly what he is apologizing for. Maybe it’s because he feels guilty for begging his best friend to shoot him in order to protect their family. Or it could be that he hates being the reason he tried to kill himself.

It doesn’t matter. As soon as he embraces Michael, the man’s resistance vanishes, and his arms tighten around Brian, so hard it hurts. He clings to the brunet, sobbing against his chest, letting years of guilt out. 

***

They stay like that, in each other’s arms on the floor. After a while, Michael shifts around so that his head rests on Brian’s shoulder. The two men are now sitting next to each other, their backs to the wall.

They don’t talk at first. Ben left the room a few minutes ago to give them some privacy, and Brian doesn’t know what to say to break the deafening silence, although he doesn’t feel on edge anymore. In fact, he feels like he is where he’s meant to be, as if he could almost forget the six years away from everyone and everything. It’s a strange sensation, thinking about the man he was before, the reckless,  _ insouciant  _ guy with his own moral code. He’s still that man. But he’s changed, too, and he dares to believe, if going through hell has taught him anything, it’s that he can survive being hurt, vulnerable. He can live and love, without the facade he used to hide behind. 

“It’s… unreal. You being here.” Michael murmurs, wiping the tears from his face.

Brian coughs out a dry laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I…” Michael stammers. 

Brian moves a little further away from Michael, needing to see him to understand what the man is trying to say. Michael tentatively looks up at him and, when their eyes lock, Brian can tell how scared he is. 

“How can you be alive?” Michael inquires quietly, rubbing his face. “I shot you in the… in the head.”

Brian hears the quaver in his voice. “The bullet didn’t kill me. I was badly hurt, but you didn’t kill me.”

“But I saw you,” Michael denies his assertion. “You were lying on the pavement in that filthy parking garage, and there was a…” he swallows. “Your forehead… the bullet went through your forehead. You bled. You bled to death...”

Brian briefly closes his eyes. Refusing to think about what he is doing, he grasps Michael's hand and raises it, pressing it against the skin beneath the hair that covers the right side of his forehead. 

His friend gasps when he feels the scar. He stares up at it and traces it with his finger, tears filling his eyes as he does. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, removing his hand.

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t I?” Michael questions, leaning his head against the wall. “I’ve thought about it for years. Asking myself what I’d do if I could go back.”

“And it helped?” the brunet inquires somewhat sardonically.

“No.”

Brian reaches for Michael’s hand. “You should have listened to my brilliant advice, instead of having regrets over things you couldn't control.” 

“No apologies, no regrets,” Michael echoes Brian’s famous mantra, his eyes fixed on their joined hands. “Not to sound harsh, but your words of wisdom didn’t mean much once you were gone.”

“Yeah, well…” Brian acknowledges. “I might have overestimated that one.”

“Tell me,” Michael demands out of the blue, moving his legs around so he’s facing Brian. 

His brow furrowing, Brian studies his friend’s expression, seeing the sadness, but also the determination that is starting to overtake the uncertainty of the previous moments. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Michael replies, his eyes traveling from Brian’s sling to his face, lingering on the bruise beneath his right eye. 

So Brian tells him. He takes his time, explaining his coma, waking up to a world where he didn’t exist anymore, where he had to struggle to learn everything all over again. He tells him about accepting he had no other choice but to forget about his former life, and settling down in a strange town in the middle of nowhere. He talks about becoming a photographer, about meeting Gabriel and bonding with the gallery owner even though he never planned to. Mentioning Connor is harder somehow, because he increasingly fears that he will not make it with every day that passes. By the time he explains how the painter saved Justin’s life and did all he could to protect everyone with no care for his own safety, Brian is having trouble masking how much it affects him.

Michael notices and touches his arm in support, yet doesn’t interrupt him.

Brian relates the last two weeks, explaining how he felt when he saw Justin at his studio door, how he had to lie to him about who he was. How Justin recognized him because he couldn’t help but kiss him. 

“You’ve always been powerless where Justin is concerned.” Michael cuts him off. 

“Yeah…” Brian responds quietly. He doesn’t say more than that. Michael knew the blond was different from all the other guys the stud of Liberty Avenue had fucked, even before Brian did.

Brian discloses Malone was the one who had Hunter’s friend murdered because Jason took a flash drive that could incriminate him. When the brunet specifies that he had to kill Malone during the ambush the week before, Michael asks him how it made him feel, as if he already knows what the brunet hasn’t been able to confide in anyone yet, not even Justin. The truth is, Brian can’t easily answer that question. The man deserved to die, and he shouldn’t care that he took his life, but he does. 

“You had no other choice but to kill him. He would have shot Justin if not for you.” Michael reminds him. “And if you can’t accept that you did the right thing, it will haunt you for years.”

“I know I did the right thing,” Brian counters, ignoring his friend’s assertion, even though he’s correct.  More than anyone else, Michael knows exactly what it’s like to hold onto unwanted feelings, unable to forgive himself for something he had no control over.

“Knowing you did the right thing and accepting it are not the same thing.” Michael refutes. “If anyone deserved to die, it was him. If you hadn’t killed him, all your friends, including Justin, including  _ you, _ would be dead. And if you need a better reason, remember you gave justice to Jason. That kid should be alive. He didn’t deserve to die.”

Brian’s brow furrows as he stares at his friend. He is right, about everything. “When did you become such a convincing shit?”

“I had to grow up since you weren’t there to kick my ass anymore.” Michael responds, huffing a little. 

Brian’s lips curl upward but, as he glances at his friend, his smile dies out. Amazed, he recognizes the sadness Michael is trying to mask, a melancholy his childhood friend is hiding behind protective walls that Brian long ago mastered and used to rely on. That’s also how he understands that Michael will not forgive himself for what he has done, no matter what Brian says, no matter that he didn’t actually kill him. 

“If I accept the fact that I killed that son of a bitch, you’ll forgive yourself?” Brian questions, not yet ready to give up. 

“Sure,” Michael responds too quickly.

“Right,” Brian snorts. “You’re still as full of shit as six years ago.”

“Give me some time,” Michael requests. 

“I  _ need _ you to forgive yourself, Mikey.” Brian contends, the familiar nickname slipping from his lips. “If I have to live with the fact that I took that psycho’s life, I need to know you’ll let go, too. I won’t move on if you don’t. We’re in this together.”

He must have used the right words, because Michael gives him a slight nod and a bashful smile, and rests his head against his shoulder, echoing, “ _ Together _ .”

***

It’s past eight thirty when Justin escapes the waiting room, after spending the last couple of hours with Carl, trying to answer Lindsay, Emmett, Ted, Blake, and Debbie’s questions as best as he could. After that surreal experience, the blond walks out the hospital and goes to sit on the grass, where he leans against the building, his joined hands around his bent knees. 

He reflects on how anxious he really was that something would go wrong, regardless of what he’d told Brian before Horvath called them. Fortunately, the gang all reacted pretty well considering the circumstances, even though Lindsay struggled with the news. Once Brian had embraced her earlier, she cried for fifteen minutes before the brunet went to sit with her and talked to her privately for a few moments. After that, he stood up and went to speak to Ted, Emmett, and Blake. Debbie joined them, and Brian comforted her some more before he walked over to Justin. He kisses him, not caring that everyone was watching. When he murmured a heartfelt “Thank you,” Justin felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Brian had then left the waiting room to see Michael, over two hours ago, with Ben unexpectedly showing up a half hour later and joining all of them. Something seemed off about his behavior. The blond is pretty sure no one noticed but him, since they were all too focused on Brian’s reappearance to pay attention to anything else.

So, Justin isn’t really surprised when he sees Ben striding in his direction, and sagging to the ground next to him without a word. In fact, he hasn’t uttered a single word to him today. 

Justin lets out a sigh and mumbles, “Hey.” 

Ben doesn’t reply. Justin looks sideways at him, deciding that if Michael's partner came to find him, he’ll talk when he’s ready. 

“You know, don’t you?” the man eventually questions, his voice barely audible.

“Uh?”

“About Michael’s involvement in Brian’s disappearance…” Ben clarifies.

A surge of sympathy washes through Justin. Peering at the man who once saved his life, he considers his response, before replying simply, “I do.”

“I don’t get it.” Ben’s face is hardened by incomprehension and fear. “How can I have missed it?”

“He never told you?” Justin asks, although he’s only half surprised Michael hid his involvement in Brian’s ‘death,’ since he was undoubtedly ashamed and scared of losing his partner.

Ben shakes his head, looking bewildered that he didn’t figure it out before. “He tried to kill himself. Right after Brian supposedly died. I found him unresponsive on our bathroom floor. He… he wasn’t breathing.”

Justin closes his eyes, assaulted by memories of awful, hard days. Discovering Michael attempted to end his life at the time makes him ache. 

Ben continues, “I should have guessed something was off. I’m his husband for Pete’s sake!”

Justin reminds him, “If he didn’t want you to know, there is nothing you could have done.”

“I should have…”

“Malone played people for a living.” Justin cuts him off. “He used Michael. Hell, he gloated when he told Brian that Michael was the one who shot him.” 

“Brian didn’t remember?” Ben inquires in astonishment.

“No.” Justin answers. “You have to understand... Malone was sick. He was a true psychopath, who had no problem killing anyone to get what he wanted. He tortured Brian in front of me. He planned to shoot me… He…” Justin stammers, unable to talk about Connor. “He forced Michael to shoot Brian. I’m not sure exactly how since Brian hasn’t told me what happened, but Malone commented that if Michael hadn’t obeyed him, more people would have died. I’m sure the fucker was dead serious about that.”

Ben frowns, processing what Justin has disclosed. 

It’s strange for the blond to see his friend so insecure, thinking he has failed his husband, though it reflects how much Ben loves Michael. The professor is not upset because of what Michael did, having surmised that his partner acted against his will. He feels guilty, however, that he didn’t do more to help him.

“What can I do?” Ben asks after the two of them have sat there in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m not sure what you can do,” Justin states quietly, “except love your husband and be there for him. What happened that night in the parking garage doesn’t concern anyone except Brian and Michael, if you ask me. It’s their story to tell, not ours.”

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Ben replies, recognizing there may be difficulties ahead if Michael and Brian decide to reveal what happened to their friends.  “I just… I can’t believe I missed the signs, that he had to live with this secret, alone. I’m his husband, Justin. I should have… seen it.”

“You never suspected anything?” Justin questions softly.

“I think…” Ben leans his head against the wall behind him, and exhales deeply. “I knew that there was… something he was hiding from me. But I… Maybe I wanted to be wrong, you know? To forget he had tried to end it… I was…  I was angry at him. Angry and scared shitless it would happen again. Every time I heard the phone ring, or he wasn’t with me, I couldn’t help but think... I had these dreams where he jumped from a roof in front of me, and I was there, helpless to prevent it, begging him not to, but... it wasn’t enough.”

Ben peers down at his hands, which are playing with strands of grass and tearing them to shreds.

“When I met Hunter, I was angry and anxious all the time. I took him in when I learned he was HIV positive, because I... I just couldn’t fail someone again. I didn’t even ask Michael if he agreed. But it turned out, it was the best decision I could have made.” He pauses, looking away. “Hunter saved Michael. And I probably shouldn’t say it, but if not for him...”

Ben’s voice trails off. He doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking for Justin to understand, although the blond doesn’t agree with the professor. For him, Ben is the main reason why Michael is alive today. “Ben…”

“It’s okay.” Ben smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now, I know the reason we went through so much. And it kills me to realize I failed him, but…” he sighs. “I need to be there for him. And for that, I have to accept the past and move on. So I will.”

Justin gazes at his friend in awe, remembering fondly Brian calling him ‘Zen Ben.’ Looking away, he commends his friend, “You really love him.”

“You forgave Brian.” 

“Yeah…” Justin glances toward the sky. “I lost him once, and I never want to be without him again.”

“What are you and Brian going to do?” Ben asks. “Will you stay here?”

“We have to go back to Seattle,” Justin discloses. “Connor - our friend from Lakevallée, the town where Brian has lived for the last four years - is still… fighting to survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben commiserates. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Justin answers, noticing two men exiting the hospital, and recognizing Brian and Michael. He gets to his feet, brushes the grass off his pants, and holds out his hand to Ben. “You coming?”

Ben is staring at them. Brian has his friend’s bag over his shoulder, his good arm around Michael’s waist. 

Looking up at Justin, Ben grabs his hand. 

“Hey!” Justin shouts as soon as his friend is standing. Brian and Michael halt and gaze back at them. “Where do you think you’re going?” the blond questions as he strides over to them, Ben on his heels.

“We’re escaping the madness,” Brian quips. 

“We used the emergency staircase.” Michael clarifies, casting an uncomfortable glance at Ben.

“So you left Debbie with Carl?” Ben inquires, glancing up at the building and pulling his husband to him. “The others left, but your mother wouldn’t budge. As for Carl, he had to intervene so the nurses wouldn’t interrupt your tête-à-tête.”

“Oh.” Michael looks contrite, and steps back. “I should call her.” 

“Michael,” Ben says his name, catching his hand. “It’s okay.”

Michael swallows, looking between Brian and Ben. Brian moves closer to Justin, while giving his friend a small nod of encouragement. “We’ll cover for you. Go.”

Michael hesitates and looks warily at his husband. For years, he must have feared the day Ben would discover he was the one who had shot Brian, but as their eyes lock, he sees something in Ben’s gaze that lets him know they’re okay. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he breathes out hoarsely and takes Brian in his arms.

When Brian releases him, Michael smiles and reaches out to hug Justin.

Ben follows Michael’s lead and wraps his arms around the blond. He then does the same with Brian, murmuring a few words that Justin can’t hear, and eventually moves back, joining Michael. 

With a final glance over their shoulders, both men walk away. Brian stares as they disappear around a corner. “Now, to get rid of Debbie…” he drawls, pulling Justin to him.

The blond lets out a laugh. “Good luck with that. I’m pretty sure she won’t let you out of her sight all night.”

“Yes, well, she may have to… I need to go to Lindsay’s,” the brunet announces quietly. “I need to see Gus.”

  
  



	26. Father and son

 

**_Lindsay and Melanie’s house, Wednesday, August 5th, 9:40 p.m._ **

It’s almost ten when Horvath drops them off at Lindsay and Mel’s. 

Brian slides out from the back seat with Justin and stands on the sidewalk, staring at the house he hasn’t seen in six years. In the early night, a few street lamps are shining, allowing his eyes to travel along the teal shutters, which are set against an off-white facade. A red bicycle lies where it was carelessly dumped on the cement, under the spotlight above the garage door. Brian takes a couple of steps forward and gets a glimpse of the once white and green swing, installed for his son’s first birthday.

“Kiddo...” Debbie murmurs behind him.

Brian starts, surprised to hear her voice, not having heard her exit the car. Turning around, he meets her understanding gaze.

“I know how hard this is for you. But I want you to know...” she begins in that tone she uses when she wants to get her point across, gesturing toward the house, “...that kid, he has your witty mind. Anytime I look at him, I see you in him. He is smart, and he can have a big mouth, but right here…” she touches his chest, right above his heart “...right here, he is just like you.”

“Fascinating, you mean?” Brian quips.

Debbie ignores his teasing. “I know you’re scared shitless. And I’m going to have a long talk with the big guy up there about what he put you through. I’m fucking mad at him, but at the same time, I feel like kissing his ass for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t put images in my head,” Brian scowls.

Debbie laughs, but her laughter dies out when she observes the look on Brian’s face as he gazes at his lover, while the young man leans against the driver’s door a few feet away, talking to Carl through the open window.

“That kid,” Debbie gazes over at Justin, “really got under the wire, huh?”

Brian stares back at her, remembering the first time Debbie uttered those words.

Still glancing at the blond, Debbie unexpectedly states, “You’ve seen Michael.”

Brian isn’t sure exactly what she means by that. “I have,” he confirms.

She doesn’t pry more, which surprises him. Her lips turn upward, however, as she enthuses, “I’m so glad Sunshine brought you back.”

The brunet frowns, wondering if Debbie knows more about Michael’s meltdown than she lets on, though it doesn’t really matter if she does or not. The most important thing is for Michael to be okay, and after their encounter today, Brian is confident he will be. If not, he will kick his ass for old times’ sake. 

“Justin gave a whole new meaning to the expression ‘stalking someone,’” he finally responds in a jesting tone, although he sobers up pretty quickly. “Except it was a trap. He could have died.”

“But he didn’t,” Debbie replies, placing her hand on the brunet’s cheek. “And neither did you.”

“Hey,” Brian protests in fond exasperation when he hears the concern in her voice. 

“Don’t mind me,” Debbie leans back. “I’ll only mother hen you for the next decade. I still can’t believe you’re really here.” She wipes her face dry and clears her throat. At Brian’s knowing look, she huffs, “What? It’s my allergies.”

The brunet rolls his lips into his mouth to suppress a smirk.

She eventually inquires, “You ready to see your son?”

Brian glances back at the house, admitting, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Debbie commiserates before promising, “but he is going to love having a dad, you’ll see. No one in this burg could ever resist you.”

Brian lets out a dry laugh, grateful for Debbie’s attempt to reassure him. 

“That hasn’t changed, Deb,” Justin interjects as he comes to stand next to Brian, addressing him with a knowing smile, “You’re still as irresistible as ever.” and leaning in to kiss his lips.

Brian grins as the blond withdraws a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his cargos. 

“Here,” Justin gives it to Brian. “I sketched this with Gus a few months ago.”

Brian’s brow furrows as he unfolds the drawing, a cartoon version of Justin and his son, standing in a schoolyard and staring up the sky, with the little boy reaching out.

“That’s you.” The blond points at a silhouette in the left corner of the page, looking over at them. “I asked him to draw you the last time I saw him. It was Father’s Day at school and Gus was… kind of angry.” he discloses. “He didn’t want to talk but he agreed to draw you. He’s pretty good with a pencil.”

Brian stares at the sketch in awe.

“Gus is a great kid,” Justin says.

“Of course. He has me for a father,” Brian deadpans, his anxiety rising as he folds the piece of paper and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m so fucking nervous.” 

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” Debbie pecks him on the cheek and hugs him one more time, whispering in his ear, “Good luck.”

Looking over her shoulder, Brian catches Horvath’s gaze. The detective stayed in the car to give them some privacy, but at that instant, the brunet feels a surge of gratitude wash over him. Without the cop, his reappearance would undoubtedly not have been as easily accepted by his family. Brian isn’t exactly sure what the detective said to his friends. Whatever it was, though, he found the words to make them understand and forgive. 

Holding his gaze, Brian mouths a silent “Thank you” at the man, before hugging Debbie tight.

***

Justin knocks, Brian restlessly shifting from foot to foot at his side. They hear a rustling coming from inside and then the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked, before the door is yanked open by Melanie. Lindsay is standing behind her, although Justin barely pays attention to her, since he never thought he’d see the day when Mel would gape at Brian as if he is her favorite person in the world.

“You going to invite me in?” Brian drawls after a minute-long staring contest. 

Melanie opens her mouth and closes it, a strange, strangled sound escaping her lips. 

“Are you crying?” Brian asks in consternation. 

“I’m not crying,” Melanie immediately denies, though she totally is. “What the fuck would I be crying for?”

“I’m not sure,” Brian taunts.

“Fuck it,” Melanie gives in, a few tears running down her face as she wraps her arms around him.

“Easy,” Brian protests when she squeezes him too hard. 

“Oh God, sorry.” Melanie immediately moves back. “Did I hurt you?” 

“I’m fine,” Brian reassures her, his lips turning upward as he adds, “You just broke my arm again. No biggie.”

“Asshole,” Melanie retorts, though she can’t refrain and pulls him to her one more time. 

When they break apart, Lindsay urges, “Come in,” stepping back as she opens the door wider and  gestures toward the living room.

Justin precedes Brian into the house, noticing an enticing aroma filling the air. As he follows Lindsay, his eyes fall on the remains of a chocolate cake. Next to it on the coffee table is a plate with a slice from which one bite is missing. Justin wonders where Gus is since the boy is nowhere in sight.

Brian briefly squeezes his shoulder before going to sit on the couch, while Lindsay and Melanie take seats across from him.

“Gus is in his room. He... went to bed.” Lindsay announces, giving Justin an answer as to the boy’s whereabouts. 

“He went to bed?” Brian echoes, puzzled. Justin sits next to him, immediately placing a reassuring hand on his thigh. 

The brunet covers his hand without looking at him.

“He… well… when I tried to tell him about you …” Lindsay continues, casting a cautious look at Brian, “we had an argument. The news was quite a shock for him. For all of us. He thinks I’m lying.”

“We don’t blame him for acting out,” Melanie interjects. “For the last six years, we all believed you were dead. Your son was convinced he would never see his father again.” 

Brian stares between Lindsay and Melanie, eventually replying sardonically, “I didn’t exactly choose to disappear, you know. I just took a bullet to my head, and had a master criminal on my back.”

“Brian didn’t have a choice.” Justin speaks out for his lover, unable to bear the thought that Mel won’t take into consideration what the brunet has had to face in order to return. “He never asked to be in a coma for two years. And he spent the next four years protecting us. Don’t fucking judge him when you don’t have the slightest clue about the nightmare he endured.” 

“We’re not blaming Brian,” Melanie refutes.

Lindsay directs her gaze at her long-lost friend. “We don’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through. And we know you did it to protect us, to protect your son. Horvath said Malone could have… come after him.”

Brian merely nods.

“We will always be grateful that you protected Gus.” Melanie acknowledges genuinely. “It’s just… it’s difficult to digest that you had to pretend to be dead. We need some time to adjust.”

“I never meant to hurt any of you,” Brian replies.  

“We know,” Lindsay reassures him. “But you have to consider that if the situation is hard for us, it’s even harder for a nine-year-old boy.” 

“You think Brian doesn’t know that?” Justin intervenes, peeved with the girl’s assessment, though not really surprised. They do have a point about Gus being the most impacted by his father’s return.

“Linds isn’t saying that Gus can’t understand why Brian had to stay away.” Melanie clarifies. “But again, our son is a little boy who lived without a father for years, and believe me, he’s missed his dad. And right now, he’s confused and refuses to believe Brian could have a good reason to leave him.” She gazes over at Brian. 

“Does he remember me?” Brian inquires quietly.

“He…” Lindsay looks at him compassionately. “He doesn’t remember much, but we never stopped talking about you. I…”

“Lindsay always made sure our son knew who his father was.” Melanie continues when her wife’s voice trails off. 

Brian rises his brow, gazing questioningly at Lindsay.

“I told him stories about you.” she admits. “The kind of stories a child who lost his father needs to hear. How you were the one standing up to the doctors who wouldn’t let his mamma be with him when he was sick. How his moms could marry because you made it happen.”

“You became his hero,” Melanie states. “We didn’t inform anyone since he didn’t want us to, but last year, Gus asked me, as a lawyer, if he could change his name.” she reveals, her lips turning upward at the memory. “He wanted to be named after his father: Gus Brian Peterson Marcus Kinney.”

Brian purses his lips, glancing toward the staircase. 

“That’s quite a name for a little boy,” Justin states with a dry laugh. “Did you agree?” 

Melanie exchanges a look with her wife. “I petitioned the court. He can’t be called Peterson Marcus Kinney because our marriage isn’t legal here, but since you were -  _ are _ \- his father, his last name is now Peterson Kinney. And we added Brian to his first name, too.”

“You did that?” Brian questions, obviously equally moved and surprised.

“Of course,” Mel answers, reaching out to clasp Lindsay’s hand. “It was important to him, so it was important to us.”

“I…” Brian stammers, rendered speechless by the girls’ announcement. 

“You should go and see him, though he’ll probably be asleep,” Lindsay cautions him, getting up from her chair and taking a couple of steps toward the entryway.

Brian stands up too, Justin following him. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Melanie frowns, joining her wife.

“We need to go back to Seattle.” Brian confirms. 

“When are you coming back?” 

“I'm not sure.” Brian answers. “As soon as we can, though it might take a while.” 

Justin specifies, “But you’ll be able to call us anytime.”

“And if he needs anything…” Brian looks up at the second floor. “All you have to do is call me.”

Lindsay tries to hide her disappointment over their imminent departure, but the emotional day they’ve all had has left her too exhausted to mask her feelings.

Brian grabs her wrist, effectively preventing her from moving toward the stairs. “Linds...”

Meeting his eyes, she smiles at him. 

Brian gives her hand a gentle squeeze and reaches out to touch her face. “I’ve missed you,” he says simply and pulls her toward him.

“Come back to us soon, okay?” She tightens her embrace around him.

“I promise,” Brian vows, leaning back. 

“You want me to join you?” Lindsay offers, sensing how nervous Brian really is now that he is about to meet his son.

“No,” Brian declines. “I need to see him alone.”

Lindsay nods, and squeezes his hand. “He will come around. Maybe not today, but he will,” she promises, her eyes moistening. 

Brian watches her walk away and disappear into the kitchen, joining her wife. He then looks at Justin and extends his hand, waiting for his lover to walk over to him. 

Without uttering a word, Brian raises his hand and touches Justin’s face, his eyes following the progression of his fingers as they roam over the blond’s skin. Inhaling deeply, he presses his lips gently against Justin’s. When he deepens the kiss, the blond responds, sighing deeply before reluctantly leaning back.

“You need to go see your son,” Justin reminds Brian, though the brunet claims his lips again. The blond doesn’t stop him. Both men are breathless when they break apart.

“I want you to know,” Brian whispers, leaning his forehead against Justin’s, “how much this -  _ us _ \- means to me.”

The blond tries to move back, but Brian doesn’t let him. 

“No, listen to me,” he insists, cupping Justin’s face between his hands. “No matter what happens with Gus - and I sure as hell hope he can forgive me for staying away - I want you to know… you being here with me...”

Justin smiles broadly as Brian’s voice trails off. Placing his index finger on his lover’s lips, he breathes out, “I know.”

***

Brian places the palm of his hand on the door to Gus’s bedroom. He leaves it there and doesn’t move for a moment; until now, he thought he couldn't be more nervous than when he went to the hospital to see Michael. He was wrong.

He eventually grabs the doorknob but doesn’t turn it. He stares at it, trying to find the strength to twist it, but he’s petrified. He doesn't know if he will find the right words for his son to forgive him. Brian was a drop-in dad before disappearing and, objectively, Gus has no reason to want a relationship with a man he doesn’t even know. That’s also why Brian was flabbergasted to hear about his request to change his name.

The truth is, for a guy who has always prided himself on acting instead of voicing empty words, he rarely did anything to deserve his son’s love before. 

Listening for any sound, Brian opens the door carefully. It squeaks a little, sending a rush of adrenaline through the brunet’s body. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to become accustomed to the semi-darkness, with moonlight filtering through the window. He closes the door behind him, his gaze skimming over the items in his son’s room, not recognizing anything. Gus was still sleeping in his crib the last time he was here. 

A shelf full of Legos runs along the right wall. The bed is on the left side of the room, and a poster of a white shark is displayed on another wall. Brian advances toward the small, white desk,  _ National Geographic Kids _ and soccer magazines scattered across the top. 

A noise comes from the bed. After freezing for a moment, Brian turns around, his eyes landing on his sleeping son, who is lying on his left side under a blue cover. Approaching, Brian forgets everything else but this image of Gus. He seems peaceful and innocent, like a child deeply asleep always seems to be, even though it’s not necessarily true.

Gus’s left arm is folded under his head. He must have been holding something, which has now fallen down next to his pillow. Brian peers at what looks like a slip of paper, and slowly bends to pick it up.

It’s not a piece of paper. It’s a picture of him and Gus, one Lindsay took when the boy was eighteen months old. A cold, sunny day in the park, where Brian had been chasing the boy around. Gus had been laughing until he tripped and fell. He’d cried, and Brian took him in his arms and reassured him with soothing words and playful kisses. 

It’s random, an image of something most fathers do. Brian never was all that good a father. He wasn’t necessarily a bad one, but he was an absent one. Except for those weekly encounters at the park and the occasional visit to this house, he wasn’t there for Gus. At the time, he didn’t miss his son. He was too focused on his career, on his sex life, on presenting the perfect image of a successful gay man. Gus wasn’t something he ever planned for, or necessarily wanted. He was happy the boy was there, and never regretted granting Lindsay’s crazy request to have a baby, except for that brief moment on the hospital roof the night Gus was born, but maybe he should have. Agreeing to father a child was a selfish decision. 

But he had unexpectedly fallen in love with Gus. He hadn’t been ready to be a dad, though, so he mostly stayed away. And then, he had been shot, disappearing from his son’s life.

Now, as he peers down at him, his heart thumps at the realization of how much Gus has grown up, the fact that he can never reclaim all those missing years hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

“Christ,” he breathes out quietly as he sags to the floor, next to his son’s bed. His eyes travel along the small body. He hesitates, his fingers stilling in mid-air before he gently smooths his hand over the boy’s hair. Brian studies his face, every line, struck by the resemblance between them. His lips turn upward. At that instant, he wants nothing more than to be Gus’s father, someone who will be proud of his son’s accomplishments, and will kick his ass if need be, but will never give up on him.

Brian doesn’t know how long he gazes at the boy. He rests his head against the mattress, and carefully covers his son’s hand. Gus barely moves, his head burrowing deeper into the pillow.

He must have dozed off for a while. When he opens his eyes, a pair of brown eyes are staring back at him. Gus hasn’t shifted, nor does he when Brian returns his gaze. 

Brian is afraid to move, to squeeze Gus’s hand, to withdraw his fingers, even to raise his head from the mattress. The boy doesn’t look away once during that moment, his scrutinizing look almost making Brian squirm.

Eventually, the boy breaks the silence, inquiring bashfully, “Who are you?” though Brian senses he already knows the answer. He doesn’t blame him for being cautious, however, not when he has believed for years that his father died a long time ago. 

“I’m Brian,” he announces simply, his hand still on Gus’s. His thumb beginning to move over the skin, he waits for the boy’s response. 

Gus stays silent and just looks at Brian. Then, he peers down at their joined hands, and withdraws his own, murmuring, “Mom says my dad is alive.”

“I know,” Brian replies softly. “How does that make you feel?”

“I don’t understand,” Gus breathes out, his eyes tearing up as he questions, “Why did you leave?”

Brian’s heart breaks at the sorrow in his son’s voice. He reaches out to pull the boy against him but Gus avoids his touch. 

“Why did you leave  _ me _ ?” the boy repeats.

“It’s… complicated,” Brian offers, inwardly berating himself for coming up with something so lame. He doesn’t have a clue how to respond to his son’s question.

“No it’s not.” Gus challenges. “You left me.”

Brian looks down and briefly closes his eyes, fighting for the courage to respond to his son. “I…” he tries, but nothing more comes out. 

“You what? Forgot you had a son and pretended to be dead?” Gus accuses.

Brian is taken aback by Gus’s anger, and responds mindlessly, “I left to protect you.” 

“Protect me?” Gus echoes with a frown.

Brian nods in agreement. “I needed to stay away, because of a bad person, who’s finally gone.”

Gus gazes at his father intently, his anger slowly dwindling away. Brian wishes he could understand what’s going on in the boy’s mind. He barely remembers being this age, and trying to comprehend why adults behaved the way they did. But he recalls the feeling that he had anytime his parents hurt him, and he understands why Gus doubts him now.

“You need to decide if you want to let me be a part of your life,” Brian says quietly, tentatively touching his son’s leg. “I get that you need some time. And I… I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Gus thinks it through and eventually asks in a small voice, “Does that mean you’re staying with me and my moms from now on?”

“I...” Brian hesitates. He hates not being able to give Gus the answer he needs to hear. “I have a friend who’s been badly hurt. He’s in a hospital in Seattle, so I need to go be with him for now. But as soon as he gets better, I’ll come back here.” He shakes his head, realizing he can’t let his son think that anything could be more important than him, so he clarifies, “And if you need me here, I’ll stay. I can stay.” 

Gus frowns at his words, his eyes traveling to Brian’s injured arm. “You...” he breathes out, staring at the sling.

“What?” Brian encourages him, moving closer.

“The bad guy hurt you.” Gus states, gazing up at him.

“I…” Brian opens his mouth and closes it, too bewildered by Gus’s correct assumption to think of a proper answer. 

“Your friend, he’s gonna be alright?” Gus then asks, his brow furrowing.

Brian hears a hint of fear in his voice and acknowledges he doesn’t know Gus. He didn’t see him grow up, wasn’t there for his first day at school, for any of the important milestones in the last six years. So, he doesn’t know how a little boy like Gus can be so perceptive, somehow surmising that Brian is hiding something from him.

“I don’t know.” Brian eventually answers, doing his best to hide how disturbed he is by his son’s reaction. 

“But if your friend doesn’t get better…” 

“I’ll come back no matter what,” Brian immediately reassures Gus, scooting closer to his son. “And I’ll be here whenever you need me. All you have to do is tell your moms, and I’ll be here.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise,” Brian breathes out, pulling his son to him and placing a gentle kiss on his head as the boy yawns in his arms. “You should go to sleep.”

Gus peers up at Brian. “Can you...” he stammers as he raises the cover and bashfully gestures for his father to join him.

Understanding Gus needs him close, Brian moves to lie down next to him, tentatively spooning his body when the boy turns around. Gus places his head on the pillow; though, after a few minutes spent in silence, Brian can tell he isn’t yet asleep. “Gus…” he murmurs, his fingers grazing his son’s back.

The boy moves his head, signalling that he heard him.

“I want to be here for you.” he vows one more time.

Gus doesn’t respond immediately, but after a moment, he turns around to face his father, careful not to bump his injured arm. Raising a hand to touch Brian’s face, he whispers, “I’m glad you’re here… dad.” 

Brian smiles at his son and kisses him. He then observes him as the boy closes his eyes, softly pushing a strand of hair back from his eyes long after Gus falls asleep.

  
  
  
  



	27. Always be here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the epilogue

 

**_Harborview Medical Center, Seattle, August 6th, 10:45 a.m._ **

They’re twelve. 

Connor snickers as he strides into the henhouse. He laughs as the chickens try to fly away while he runs toward them, until he reaches the corner and bends to grab a couple of eggs from the straw-covered floor. He starts to juggle. Gabriel sighs in annoyance, wanting to tell his stupid friend how out of his mind he is to steal from Monster Bill, but before he can voice his displeasure, he hears the giant hermit’s voice yelling from the stables a few yards away.

Startled, both boys immediately exit the henhouse and dash off in the direction of the forest, sprinting like mad until they’re breathless. They can still hear the angry, terrifying voice of Bill the Butcher - Connor loves to give the hermit many adorable nicknames - yelling that he is going to drown them in the lake at the first opportunity he gets, and eat their balls after roasting them on a spit. 

Connor can’t help it, and shouts, “Come and get me, toad face!” before scampering off again, deeper into the forest, with Gabriel on his heels. When they reach the road leading to town twenty minutes later, Gabriel is torn between being utterly pissed off and laughing at the brunet, who is gasping for oxygen and looking completely worn out.

“Remind me…” Connor struggles to say, pausing for a breath after every word “...again why…” He lowers his head, resting his hands on his thighs “...I’m such a dick?”

“Because, as you always... love to remind me,” Gabriel smiles falsely when his friend gazes up at him, “it’s impregnated in your DNA.”

“Ah, yes.” Connor mocks, “And you’re still... following me around. I may be a dick... but you’re my most faithful pussy.”

“Cut it out!” Gabriel pushes the brunet’s shoulder. “Monster Bill is crazy. What if he had caught us, you dickhead!”

“Relax, Gabe,” Connor’s grin vanishes, to be replaced by an earnest expression, as he promises, “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

***

“Gabriel?”

It takes him a few seconds to acknowledge the hand shaking his shoulder. He didn’t realize he had dozed off, but as he straightens, startled, he blinks and tries to get his bearings. He sees white walls and sheets and hears Mary-Elizabeth say his name again, before his eyes land on Connor’s pale face. 

That’s when he remembers they’re losing him.

“What time is it?” he asks distractedly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He has a sudden urge to get out of here as the dream lingers in his mind, along with the memory of a happier, more carefree time.

“It’s almost eleven a.m.” Mary-Elizabeth responds. “We have an appointment in Dr. Pearson’s office in a few minutes.”

“We?” Gabriel echoes. “Why? You’re his mother. I’m-”

“You’ve been here day and night for the past eight days.” Mary-Elizabeth cuts him off. “I want you with me if they announce…”

Her voice trails off, and Gabriel feels a pang in his chest. He’s well aware what the doctors are going to say to them; that Connor should be awake by now, and that the fact that he isn’t indicates his status hasn’t changed, which doesn’t augur well for the future.

They want Mary-Elizabeth and Gabriel to be prepared.

_ Fuck that. _

“I need to get out of here.” Gabriel stands up and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

“Gabriel.” 

“I can’t,” Gabriel shakes his head. “He’s right here,” he gestures at Connor, lying still on the bed. “He’s not dead. I won’t listen to them tell me he’s going to die.”

Mary-Elizabeth grabs his arm before he can move away. “He’s my son,” she states forcibly, her eyes moistening, “my only son. I don’t want to lose him either. But... I can’t do this alone.”

Gabriel inhales deeply as she looks into his eyes, pleading with him not to leave. He huffs a little, inwardly acknowledging he can’t let her down. Connor would kill him for that. 

Glancing away, he relents with a sigh, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Mary-Elizabeth pulls him against her. He immediately wraps his arms around her small frame.

Breaking their embrace after a few moments, he walks to the bed and places his hand on Connor’s. “You’d better hold to  _ your _ promise,” he whispers, eyeing the painter’s immobile features, hoping for a sign. 

Nothing happens, of course, so Gabriel steps back and follows Mary-Elizabeth out of the room.

***

**_A couple of hours earlier, Pittsburgh International Airport, American Airlines Terminal_ **

“Yeah. I know.” Justin says again, listening to his mother repeat for what feels like the hundredth time how happy she is for him. Though he really wants to roll his eyes at her sentimental bullshit, like, “You and Brian were always meant to be,” he’s relieved she is taking the news so well, especially since she never wanted them together in the first place.

Sitting silently next to him, Brian pretends not to listen to every word he utters.

The blond eventually puts an end to their conversation, fearing  his mother is going to get overly emotional again. “I love you, too. I’ll call you soon,” he promises, sighing in relief as he hangs up.

“Mother Taylor is still breathing after you confirmed I was alive?” Brian inquires. 

Justin nods curtly. “She’s fine. She’ll need at least a month to recover from the news that we’re back together, though,” he half quips before adding playfully, “She said hi.”

“If she said hi, we’re safe,” Brian intones sardonically.

“You want something to eat?” Justin gets up from his chair in the waiting area, fishing around in his pocket for a few coins.

“No,” Brian declines, casting a look at the vending machines. “You’re going to buy for three anyway.”

“And you’re going to eat half my snacks.” Justin drawls, selecting two Snickers bars as well as bags of Reece’s Pieces, Fritos, and trail mix with M&Ms. 

Slouching back down next to Brian, he tears open one of the Snickers and begins to chew. He’s starving. They didn’t have anything to eat the night before and barely had time for a quick breakfast at Linds and Mel’s before leaving for the airport. Horvath hasn’t arrived yet, so they’re waiting for him. Their flight has been delayed, though no announcement was made before they arrived at the American Airlines terminal and looked at the departure panel, a time fifty minutes later than the scheduled takeoff blinking next to their flight number and destination.

Enjoying his impromptu snack, Justin watches other travelers as they hoist their carry-on bags onto the conveyor belt for scanning, remove their shoes, and place coins and other metal items in plastic tubs alongside their footwear. One woman is pushing people to move faster in the growing line of people, probably already late for her flight. A mother is holding a crying baby in her arms, trying to place her luggage, shoes, tablet, and purse on the rolling belt, the other passengers looking pained as the child’s wailing escalates.

Justin swallows the last bite and peers over at Brian. His partner seems lost in thought, no doubt reflecting on his visit with his son.

The night before, the blond had fallen asleep on the girls’ couch, waking up around two in the morning. “Brian?” he called, disoriented, turning on the lamp on the nearby pedestal. The light dimly illuminating the living room, Justin’s eyes traveled around the space. When he ascertained Brian wasn’t there, he let the blanket fall to the floor and got up. He ascended the stairs quietly, careful not to awaken anyone, and headed toward Gus’s bedroom, where he found both father and son sound asleep in the boy’s twin bed, Brian spooning Gus’s smaller frame. Mesmerized, Justin observed them for a while, before closing the door behind him and going back downstairs.

This morning, Gus seemed a little on guard; yet, he followed his father around the house until the very last minute. Their goodbyes were heartwrenching, the hug they shared endless as the boy had a hard time letting go of Brian. The brunet, who was kneeling down, gently whispered reassuring words in Gus’s ear, the boy nodding a couple of times before breaking their embrace. 

Now, they are heading back to Seattle. Gabriel sent them a text earlier this morning informing them there was no change in Connor’s status. He asked them not to come back, to stay in Pittsburgh instead, but both Brian and Justin know Gabriel shouldn’t go through this alone. Brian, especially, wants to be there for his friend, the same way the gallery owner has been there for him all these years, even though Gabriel may not have realized how precious his friendship is to him. Without Gabe, and to an extent without Connor, Brian probably would have gone crazy a long time ago.

“What about Philly?” Brian unexpectedly asks, jolting Justin back from his thoughts.

“Huh?” the blond eloquently answers.

“When are you going back?” Brian peers over at him.

Justin frowns as he tries to understand why Brian would ask that. “I’m not going back. Why are you-”

Brian reaches out, placing his hand on Justin’s thigh, “I’m merely asking because you have a life there and… we didn’t talk about what we’re going to do after Seattle.” 

A wave of anxiety rushes through Justin as he notices Brian’s voice has turned into a whisper at the mention of Seattle. If Connor hasn’t woken up yet, it’s not good. Justin won’t even consider what it means, and forces the feeling of doom out of his mind. “I haven’t thought about it. I guess I need to call my landlord to give notice.”

“I want to be there for my son.” Brian declares. “But,” he continues, “I don’t want to go back to my old life either.”

“You want to stay in Lakevallée?” Justin questions, surprised.

“No,” Brian responds, without explaining any further. Gazing at Justin, he asks, “What about you?” 

“Me?” Justin echoes, realizing he hasn’t thought about what he wants to do now that he has Brian back. “I… want to leave Philly and… I don’t know - maybe settle down somewhere and draw or something?”

“That’s it?” Brian pushes, “What about your degree? What about... that job interview you had for a graphics animator position?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Justin looks away, feeling ashamed about lying. He should tell Brian he still wants to have a career in graphic animation. He would also love to draw and paint again. But the truth is, it’s all irrelevant if it endangers his relationship with Brian. There is no way he can leave him, his career be damned.

“You do know,” Brian contradicts him, prompting Justin to peer up at him. “You’re just afraid.”

“No, I’m-”

“Justin, I get it, okay?” Brian cuts him off, searching the blond’s gaze until he’s sure he has his attention. “But there’s no reason you have to give up something that means so much to you and that you’ve worked so hard for.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Brian leans closer to his partner, “I’ll be there. Whatever you decide, we’ll make it work.”

Justin’s lips turn upward. He badly wants to kiss him for saying exactly what he needed to hear. “You know,” he leans forward to touch him, placing his forehead against Brian’s, “you really turn me on when you speak to me like that.”

Brian chuckles, raising an eyebrow and moistening his lips. “Yeah?” he whispers in that low tone that gets to Justin every time, his breath tickling the blond’s face.

Brian is about to kiss him but before he can, Horvath’s voice intrudes. “Boys?” 

“Detective. Not a second too soon,” Brian deadpans, glancing up at the cop.

“I’m late,” Horvath counters, setting his baggage on the floor as he stands in front of them. “I had someone on the phone.”

Justin notices the cop’s strange expression and asks, “Who?”

Carl looks at him before directing his gaze at Brian, responding with a tilt of his chin, “Your sister.”

“Claire?” Brian intones, bewildered. 

Horvath confirms, “She claims that she’s being harassed by journalists. She’s at the precinct now.”

“What did she want from you?” 

“Your number.”

“My number? You gave it to her? Brian questions.

“No,” Horvath tosses a piece of paper onto Brian’s lap. “But I took hers.”

Brian peers down and grabs the paper. 

“She must be astounded by the news that you’re alive,” Justin volunteers. “Everybody is.”

“You think she’s less of a cunt now than she was then?” Brian asks sardonically, sliding the paper into the back pocket of his pants. 

Justin snorts. “Probably not,” he admits. “But if you want to call her, you should.”

“ _ Ladies and gentlemen, this is the pre-boarding announcement for American Airlines flight 3328 to Chicago O’Hare and Seattle. Concierge Key members may board at any time. We invite those passengers with small children... _ ”

“That’s our cue,” Brian cuts in. “Now, give me those before we go,” he demands, pointing at the bags of Reece’s Pieces. Justin hands him one, Brian snatching it and stealing a Snickers bar in the process. He tears open the wrapper and engulfs half of it in one bite. At Justin’s amused stare, he proclaims, “What? I’m hungry,”

Justin tries really hard to suppress a grin, but fails miserably.

***

**_Harborview Medical Center, Seattle, August 6th, 4 p.m._ **

Brian, Justin, and Carl arrive in Seattle shortly after three p.m. Horvath is flying to West Virginia the next day, but needs to ask Connor’s mother a couple more questions before joining Agent Bennett there. He therefore goes with the boys to the hospital, after they all deposit their baggage at the hotel. 

As they reach the intensive care unit, they pass the nurses' desk, Horvath flashing his badge at a medical staff member without waiting for permission to proceed. They advance down the corridor, a policeman still guarding Connor’s room. It’s standard procedure since the painter is part of an ongoing investigation, but it makes Brian uneasy nonetheless. Eyeing the twenty-something cop askance, he barely hears Horvath’s greeting.

“Hey, Jules.” 

“Detective,” the policeman responds curtly, taking a step sideways to allow them access to the room.

“I’ll wait here.” Carl announces.

“Thanks,” Brian answers, grateful for the detective’s thoughtfulness. 

“We’ll tell you when Connor’s mother’s ready to answer your questions.” Justin volunteers before following his partner into Connor’s room.

They find Mary-Elizabeth alone, sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding her son’s hand. 

“Mrs. Decunn,” Brian tentatively calls out.

“Liam,” Mary-Elizabeth answers. For some reason, she can’t call him Brian, even though she’s been informed of his true identity. “The detective’s here?”

“He’s waiting for you outside,” Brian confirms.

Justin walks toward her. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs slightly, responding vaguely, “You know…”

“Where is Gabriel?” Brian questions, surprised not to see his friend.

“He left a couple of hours ago,” Mary-Elizabeth reveals. “He was upset.”

Brian glances at Connor. Maybe it’s the fear he feels, or the fact that with every day that goes by, the chances of losing Connor increase, but the brunet already knows what the elderly woman is going to say just by looking at his friend.

“The doctors…” Mary-Elizabeth stammers. “They said we have to… accept that he probably won’t wake up.”

“Bullshit,” Brian retorts, his eyes lingering on Connor’s face. 

“Brian…” Justin calls his name, a chiding note in his voice.

“He’s still alive.” Brian intones, Connor’s predicament reminding him of the time he woke up from his own coma. Several members of the medical team didn’t think he would survive, even less that he would recover physically. They spent their time spouting useless words of sympathy about how they didn’t believe he would ever walk or talk properly again, not after so long. It only made him work harder. He couldn’t stand the pity he saw in their gazes, and he didn’t stop until it was gone. “They all tell you that you won’t recover from a deep trauma, but what the fuck do they know?” he eventually snarls, turning to face Mary-Elizabeth. 

She smiles sadly at him before looking down at her son. 

Walking around the bed, Brian stops next to his partner and touches Mary-Elizabeth’s shoulder. She covers his hand, her gaze on Connor’s face. Brian then withdraws his hand, and announces, “I’m going to find Gabe.”

Justin urges, “Go. I’ll stay here. ” 

Brian places a gentle kiss on the blond’s temple and walks out of the room.

***

It takes him almost two hours to locate Gabriel. After checking the various waiting areas, Brian heads toward Puget Sound, where he aimlessly meanders along the waterfront for fifty minutes. He is about to give up when, on his way back, he spots his friend near the ferry terminal. A couple of kids are playing with a labrador, tossing a ball a few feet away from him, but Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice them. He is standing alone looking at the bay, his elbows braced on a railing, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. 

“Gabe?” Brian calls his name as he approaches him.

Gabriel barely reacts and doesn’t stop gazing at the bay. 

Brian waits, the ball the kids were playing with rolling to his feet. The labrador runs toward it, stopping near him and starting to bark as he waits for the brunet to toss it. Snorting, Brian bends down and throws the ball in the kids’ direction, watching the dog run off after it.

“What’re you doing here?” Gabriel finally inquires. “I told you not to come back.”

“Yeah, well… I’ve never been good at obeying orders,” Brian volunteers, turning to face the bay and gazing at a few sailboats on the water.

Gabriel ignores his reply and retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking one out.

“Since when do you smoke?” Brian asks with a frown.

“Since Connor is dying.” Gabriel snarls, lighting his Lucky Strike and inhaling deeply. 

“He’s not dead.” Brian replies forcibly, snatching the cigarette from Gabriel’s hand and taking a drag. He coughs a little. He hasn’t smoked in years.

Gabriel peers over at him disapprovingly, but doesn’t try to steal it back, nor does he take a new one. “Not yet,” he concedes. “But-”

“But what?” the brunet cuts him off, discarding the smoke and crushing it beneath his shoe. He then looks up at his friend, and waits for him to return his gaze. 

The blond stammers, “I’m not… I’m just…” He runs his fingers through his hair, asserting, “I can’t do this.”

“He’s not going to die,” Brian decrees, grabbing his friend’s neck and pulling him forward. “You hear me? He’s not gonna die.”

“You don’t know that,” Gabriel counters, now struggling to keep his composure. “The doctors-”

“The doctors don’t know shit.” Brian states, leaning back and cupping the blond’s cheek. Deep down, the brunet knows Connor may not make it. But at the moment, it’s irrelevant, because Gabriel can’t give up. It’s as simple as that. If he does, he will never forgive himself. Brian remembers that night at the hospital, Michael’s hand grounding him in reality, while he spouted reassuring bullshit at him. He needed to hear Justin would be alright, the same way Michael had when Ben collapsed and almost died. And Gabriel needs to hear it, too. “You think Connor would have waited for you all his life, taking all the shit you threw his way, only to give up now that you’ve admitted you love him? And you claim you know him better than I do?”

Gabriel glances down, but the brunet forces his chin up with his hand, making him look at him.

“I almost lost Justin twice.” he discloses, releasing Gabriel. “The first time, I watched him get bashed in the head. I saw it happen, but I was too far away to do anything. I thought he was dead.” He still remembers everything about that night. “But he didn’t die. Not that time, and not when Malone threatened to kill us all. And Connor won’t either… I know you’re terrified. I know. But you’re not alone. I’m here. Justin’s here. You’re not strong enough? Fine. Let us help you.” Brian searches Gabriel’s gaze and says again, “Let me help you.”

The blond stares back at Brian, taking a moment to respond. He doesn’t reply verbally, but eventually, he gives Brian a bashful nod, as the brunet tugs him closer. 

***

**_Five days later, Tuesday August 12th, 0:45 a.m._ **

Alone in Connor’s room, Justin stands up and yawns. Stretching his muscles, he tries to chase the exhaustion away as he goes to the window and looks outside. Gabriel left a couple of hours ago to get some sleep and check on Mary-Elizabeth, who is still resting after suffering a sudden malaise on Sunday night. The doctors examined her and aren’t too worried, though they warned her that she needs to take it easy. 

For the past five days, Justin has spent almost all his time in the hospital, except to eat, sleep, and shower. Brian barely left Gabriel’s side, until Gus called him the night before, asking for his father. The gallery owner took advantage of the boy’s request to bluntly tell his friend that he was going to flip out if he didn’t get off his back. Brian flew back to the Pitts in the morning, promising to be back soon, or to come back immediately if anything major happened.

Justin offered to stay with Gabriel. Brian agreed, knowing the gallery owner shouldn’t be left alone, even more so now that Mary-Elizabeth has to rest. Their goodbyes were bittersweet, however, Justin wondering if there will ever be a time when being apart from Brian will get easier. It’s probably just that their reunion and the ordeal they’ve gone through are too fresh for him not to be anxious about being apart. Although Justin isn’t sure how Brian feels, he knows it isn’t easy for either of them.

But he’s glad to be here, to be able to help Gabriel and be near Connor. It’s been a difficult five days - a difficult thirteen days, really. The fact that the painter was shot protecting Justin is not the only reason the blond feels the way he does. He can’t explain the connection he has with Connor. For whatever reason, they clicked, forming a rare, instant friendship. As an adult, he hasn’t made new friends since he met Brian and the boys nine years ago. He’s not antisocial per se - though he claims to be - but he hasn’t taken the time to establish new relationships. During his college years, he smiled and laughed when he had to, went to a few parties with his schoolmates, even pretended to enjoy himself, which he did to some extent. 

“You know,” he begins talking as he leans forward and stares at his friend lying still in the bed, “it’s strange to see you so quiet. I bought croissants today. And I…” he laughs. “I ate one in front of you, just because I expected... I don’t know what I expected. But you remember, huh? You being so rude to me the first time you barged into my room?” He smiles, though it slowly fades away. “I miss you, Connor. It’s completely crazy, right?”

Justin gazes down, his elbows on his thighs. He looks away before focusing his gaze on Connor again, sighing deeply. “You need to beat this. Wherever you are, you need to find your way back. We can’t lose you. Gabriel will go insane if you don’t wake up. He needs you. We all need you. Even Brian made me promise to look after you. He’s with his son.” Snorting, he questions, “Did you know he had a son? Probably not. There’re so many things we need to tell you. But we can’t, because you decided to play hero and protect me. Christ, what were you thinking?” he exclaims, getting up abruptly, his chair falling over. He takes a couple of deep breaths, knowing his tiredness is partly responsible for his inability to control himself. But he is so fucking scared. 

“Justin?” Gabriel’s voice resonates in the room.

The blond freezes when he hears his voice. Hastily wiping the fresh tears from his eyes, he puts on a smile, and turns to face him, pretending he is okay. His voice sounds too raw though, even to himself. “Hey.”

Gabriel isn’t fooled. His eyes travel between Justin and Connor before resting on Justin again. He gives him a small nod and a tepid smile. “It’s okay.”

Justin shakes his head. “You don’t need me to freak out.”

“Believe me, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who can’t be strong all the time.” Gabriel huffs, leaning over and grabbing the chair, restoring it to an upright position. “You should go and get some sleep.”

“No, I-”

“Justin,” Gabriel cuts him off. “Take a look in the mirror. You need to sleep, and not just for a couple of hours.” 

Justin doesn’t leave, instead observing Gabriel as he sits on the bed and leans in to kiss his lover’s lips. He then moves a strand of hair, tucking it behind the brunet’s ear, Justin almost feeling like a voyeur, witnessing that intimacy. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in the morning.” 

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” Gabriel replies. 

Justin exits the room in silence. He’s hungry but doesn't want to bother with finding an open restaurant at this hour, so he goes to the vending machines to get some water and a sandwich. Settling in a chair in the waiting room, he eats and checks the time, hesitating briefly before grabbing his phone to call Brian. It goes straight to voicemail, so he hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket, deciding to wait a couple more minutes before trying again. Leaning his head against the wall, he closes his eyes. 

He wakes up two hours later, realizing he must have dozed off when he sees the wall clock, which reads three forty a.m.

“Shit,” he mumbles, as he looks at his phone, noting he has two missed calls from Brian. It’s too late to call back, so he stands up and places the sandwich wrapper and the water bottle in the trash. 

He stops by Connor’s room on his way out. Opening the door a sliver, his eyes immediately land on Gabriel, who is lying next to Connor and hiding the brunet from his sight.

Justin chooses not to enter, quietly closing the door behind himself. 

***

He is breathing, or so he thinks. There is something preventing him from swallowing, but he can’t help but try. It makes him want to vomit, although he’s not sure his throat muscles are even moving.

His head is killing him, maybe even his entire body. He hears a voice and wants to speak but, again, he can’t. He freaks out, though the more aware he becomes, the more he realizes his body isn’t responding. He feels weak. He doesn’t know if he’s awake or not, if he’s even alive. He doesn’t know where he is. He’s in pain, as if something is crushing him from the inside, but his mind refuses to remember what happened, why he can’t move. 

He wants to scream. He doesn’t hear anything.

The panic fades away. There is a warmth on his arm, on his leg, and he could swear,  as he recognizes him, that the blond is breathing against his neck. Gabriel is here, waiting for him. The touch calms him, soothing his mind. He realizes there are things he should remember, though it doesn’t matter at the moment - not as long as Gabriel keeps touching him and never lets him go.

  
  
  



	28. The trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally added one last chapter. Still an epilogue to go. Thank you for reading !

**_August 2009, Harborview Medical Center_ **

The first time Connor wakes up, Gabriel is sleeping by his side. He attempts to say his name, but his voice is too raw. His body aches everywhere when he tries to move. The pain in his chest is like nothing he has ever felt, and he would scream if he could, but he can’t. The only thing he can do is touch Gabriel’s arm and pray for it to be enough to wake him up.

He will remember the joy on Gabriel’s face for a long time, but also everything else. Everything he did after Brian entered his life. At first, he pretends to be okay with it, feeling enough of a burden to his mom and Gabriel, to Brian and Justin. They’re there every day, barely leaving his side, and he should be grateful, but after a couple of weeks, he feels like a prisoner who has only one option. When Justin thanks him for saving his life, he smiles and says all the things they expect him to say but, inside, he’s slowly slipping away.

Living with himself has always been hard for Connor. Ever since he was a boy. He’s been deeply depressed most of his life and probably should have sought treatment a long time ago, but he didn’t because he never believed he could feel any different. The only times he’s experienced anything remotely resembling happiness have been because of Gabriel. But now that his childhood friend knows what he hid, he can’t feel happy anymore, because he can’t understand why Gabriel doesn’t care about what he did. They could all be dead because of him, fortunate circumstances being the only reason they aren’t.

The saddest thing about not being a spy anymore is that, somehow, the lie was easier to live than waking up after it ended, which Connor knows is completely fucked up. Maybe if he had been punished and not offered immunity in exchange for his testimony against a brother who hates him, for no other reason than that he exists, he would feel differently.

So, it’s simple. For now, Connor plays the part and gives Gabriel, Brian, and Justin what he should give them. Once they get back to normal and resume their lives, he will set them free.

***

**_October 2009, Pittsburgh, Michael and Ben’s house_ **

While the trial against Malone’s network of criminal associates is being prepared, Michael asks Brian to help him share the truth about his involvement in his best friend’s disappearance with his mother and friends. Brian agrees, Justin suggesting he handle the rest of their friends with Carl while they see Debbie.

The day Michael discloses what happened to his mother, it’s been raining since morning. In the comfort of his home, he stares at the drops of water drumming against the window pane, with Brian standing by his side. Debbie seems oblivious to the drama that is going to unfold as she sits on the couch, talking and laughing with Ben like she always does, loudly and boldly.

When Michael says the dreaded words a few minutes later, she looks at him like she is seeing him for the first time. “I don’t understand… You shot your best friend?”

“I didn’t want to,” Michael defends himself. “But Malone was threatening to kill Gus, Ben, and Justin.”

“If he hadn’t shot me, they’d all be dead. I’d be dead.” Brian interjects, the look his foster mother gives her son making his heart ache. “He was brave, Deb.”

“What does bravery have to do with anything?” she hisses, directing her gaze at Michael. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Your son saved _my_ son’s life,” Brian states firmly. “ If you want to be angry, then yell at him right here and now. Yell at me. Tell us we’re pieces of shit for hiding it from you.”

He pauses, allowing her time to respond. Debbie opens her mouth and closes it, stepping forward, and letting out a “But how…” her voice trailing off, too many questions swirling around in her head.

Understanding she is at a loss as to what to say, Brian takes a step toward her, gazing down at her and stating softly, “If you have questions, ask Carl for the answers. He knows as much as we do. But do it today. Because come tomorrow, you will move on with your life and accept what can’t be changed. And you will stand by your son’s side, and keep loving him like you always have.”

She stares up at him, rendered silent.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” the brunet steps back and places his hands on Michael’s shoulders, “Ben will give you more details about the upcoming trial, but we’ve gotta go. Michael?”

Michael casts an apologetic look at Debbie when the redhead looks in his direction. Brian tries to push him toward the door, but he resists, going to stand in front of his mother. He doesn’t speak, just looks at her until she meets his gaze. When she does, he takes her hands in his, Debbie briefly peering down at their joined hands, a small sound escaping her lips. She is struggling not to cry as he gives her a tentative smile without saying a word. Releasing her hands, he keeps his gaze on her for a few more seconds before following Brian out of the room.

Brian hears Ben stop Debbie from coming after them, the professor’s voice fading away as he closes the door and takes a deep breath. The rain has stopped, but he can still feel the heavy moisture in the air.

“Well, that went well,” he comments, straightening the collar of his jacket around his neck.

“You’re crazy,” Michael replies, looking at the street.

“I’m Rage,” Brian intones in a jesting voice. “Need to live up to my reputation.”

“Hmm,” Michael looks away and sighs.

“Give her a couple of days,” Brian advises as he pushes the man down the stairs but doesn’t go any further than that.

Michael tilts his head toward him.

“I need a drink.” Brian volunteers, wrapping his arms around Michael’s shoulders.

“Woody’s?” Michael questions, leaning against his chest.

“Woody’s,” Brian confirms and places a small kiss on his friend’s cheek, before resting his chin on his shoulder and smiling.

***

**_A few days later, Lakevallée, the chalet_ **

Brian sits with his friend, absentmindedly rocking back and forth on the swing bench, one foot flat on the pine surface. He looks around, remembering when he moved in here, living one day at a time. He spent days sitting on this bench, the camera Horvath had offered him on his lap, trying to figure out what he should do next.

One day, he’d had enough of sitting around, so he took his camera and went into town. He snapped a few photos as he walked around, though not for long since he didn’t want the inhabitants to notice him. The clunker of a Ford Maverick he had when he first settled in Lakevallée broke down on his way back. That’s how he met Gabriel, the man driving by in his pick-up and stopping to offer his help. Bent over the motor of the vehicle with grease all over his hands, Gabriel had patiently explained what he was checking, before pointing at a small piece and declaring that the fuel injector was kaput. He hadn’t cared that Brian didn’t pipe up with a single word while he chattered away.

So many things have happened since then. What’s done is done and Brian doesn’t want to dwell on the past. He has friends, a family, a future to focus on, and he damn well intends on living. He officially proposed that Justin move in with him in Pittsburgh where he’ll be close to his son and his friends. Brian wants to help the blond launch his career, Justin having refused the job in Philly and convincing him that he could freelance as a graphic designer. Justin has the skills, and Brian knows how to sell a concept. Of course, Justin will need time to establish a reputation, will probably need to travel regularly, and will have to be patient before he’s offered interesting jobs. Brian’s savings and the compensation he received for his role in taking down Malone’s network will cover their expenses for a while. Brian also plans to use his connections in the Pitts and to market his skills as a photographer. He doesn’t want his former job back since the thrill of an advertising pitch is not something that drives him anymore. Photography, on the other hand, offers him endless possibilities.

He met with Claire a week ago. It was strange seeing his sister after so long, considering the last time he’d seen her - and his mother - was the day at her house when she accused him of being a child molester. He has never forgotten the pain caused by Joan’s rejection and his sister’s betrayal, though Claire surprised him when she showed up at the diner after he didn’t return her calls. It turned out she had been coming there for some time, hoping to run into him.

She was surprisingly kind, vowing she was happy he was alive, that she had missed her little brother. The reunion was awkward at best, Brian not knowing what she expected from him, and when she’d said that she wanted a chance to be a part of his life, he almost refused. But instead, he promised to call her soon, even though he still doubts there is anything worth salvaging between them.

Now, as he sits here, reflecting on his life, he peers at the friend next to him and observes him in silence.

This is the last time they will ever come here, and he realizes this place represents something only they can understand. He never thought it would be so difficult to let it go.

The other brunet is lost in thought. Connor hasn’t been himself since he woke up two months ago, lacking his usual sarcastic sense of humor. Gabriel hoped that finally leaving the hospital would do him good, but ever since he got home last week, he’s been more subdued than before. And Brian is fucking worried, especially now that Connor has told him the news regarding his future plans.

“So, you’re moving away with your mother, huh?” Brian says.

“I am,” Connor confirms. “Milton will manage the hotel now that my mother has agreed to retire.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere on the East Coast,” Connor vaguely responds.

Brian wants to push but knows Connor won’t give him an answer, so he instead inquires, “Have you talked to Gabriel about your decision?”

“He has his life here…” Connor gazes up at Brian, noticing the look on his face. “What?”

“He’d follow you if you asked him.”

“I know.”

Brian frowns, waiting for Connor to elaborate. When he doesn’t, he probes, “And?”

Connor sighs. “I’ve been Gabriel’s ball and chain ever since I woke up.”

“Come on, you know he cares about you,” Brian retorts. “Stop acting like you don’t give a shit.”

“I do care,” he verifies, rubbing his face nervously. “I’m just just having a hard time adjusting to this new life. And I still don’t know how the trial is going to affect us.”

“Didn’t you agree to immunity in exchange for your testimony?”

“I did,” Connor confirms. “I won’t go to prison.”

“So, let me get this straight. Gabe loves you. You’re finally free to be with him after years of being blackmailed and fearing for his life, but you’re going to fuck it up because...” Brian trails off, staring intently at Connor and waiting for his reply.

Connor snorts. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re rooting for me and Gabe. I spied on you for years. I almost got you and Justin killed. You should hate me.”

“You were ready to die to save Justin. And sure, it doesn’t undo what you did, but you never had any choice but to lie to me and Gabe to begin with.” Brian reminds him. “Neither did I when I lied to you about who I was.”

“Such a hero I make,” Connor retorts disdainfully.

“Connor,” Brian pronounces his name slowly and distinctly to get his attention, “you can hate yourself as much as you want, you can push everyone away, you can even disappear and leave everyone behind, but it won’t change the fact that you’re dead wrong if you think we’d be better off without you.”

Connor doesn’t respond. Brian would like nothing more than to peer into his friend’s mind, suspecting the reason Connor is here now is because he feels guilty. He hates to use that guilt against Connor to make him talk, but it’s not like he has a choice.

“Talk to him. Or I will,” Brian eventually warns. If Connor wants to leave Lakevallée, there is little he can do about it. But Gabriel needs to know.

“It won’t change anything,” Connor states.

“I don’t care.” Brian counters. “You can’t just discard him like he means nothing.”

Connor shakes his head and stands up, gazing down. He doesn’t move away at first, as if debating what to say but, in the end, he simply states, “I’ll see you at the trial,” before turning around and leaving. Brian watches him until he disappears from sight.

***

**_One week later, Pittsburgh, Downtown federal courthouse_ **

Connor doesn’t show up at the trial.

When the prosecutor calls his name on the fourth day, Justin still hopes the brunet will appear at the door to the courtroom and take the stand. He hates being here, having to sit in the same room as the man who lied to Brian for all those years, and seeing all the men and women who worked for the psycho who made Brian’s life a living hell. The fact that all their friends have come to support them - or in Michael’s case, to testify against Malone - helps, but Justin still didn’t anticipate how hard it would be not to bolt and run out the doors.

Even less could he have predicted Connor’s absence. When the prosecutor asks for a recess to locate his witness, the judge gives him twenty-four hours. It takes some doing on Justin’s part to convince Gabriel and Brian that he should be the one to go after Connor, especially since he isn’t supposed to know where Connor is. And yet, one hour later, he heads for the airport to take the next flight to New York, arriving at the house on Long Island four hours later.

Justin is grateful Mary-Elizabeth accepted his request to exchange information on Connor’s progress after he left the hospital two weeks ago. At the time, he never thought his friend would disappear without telling anyone, even though the brunet had admitted to Brian he was leaving Lakevallée. Brian didn’t think he would run away either, not after having warned him not to give up on Gabriel but, most of all, because Brian _had_ to leave every person he loved six years ago. To him, it’s inconceivable to make that choice willingly.

Brian isn’t Connor, though.

Parking his rental in front of the isolated house, Justin slides out of the vehicle. He walks to the front door and is about to knock when Mary-Elizabeth opens it with a sad smile on her face.

“He’s here. Come in,” she urges.

Justin gives her a brief hug. When he leans back, she apologizes, “I should have called you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Justin assures her. She is a mother, and even though Justin wishes she could have convinced her son to show up at the trial, he knows it’s not that simple, especially with Connor. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs,” she indicates the stairs at the back of the room. “Second door on the left.” Justin glances at the staircase, his gaze drawn to the large French windows leading onto the beach from the living room. “He has not left the room since we got here.”

Justin’s brow furrows, and he nods before heading upstairs. He halts in front of the wooden door, hesitating briefly before turning the handle, not bothering to knock since he’s sure Connor won’t invite him in.

He needs a few seconds to become accustomed to the darkness, the drawn shades barely allowing any light to illuminate the space. He peers over at the bed and sees him, lying on his left side, curled up and facing the wall.

“You shouldn't be here,” Connor breathes out without bothering to move.

“And you should have been in the courtroom six hours ago,” Justin counters dryly.

“Justin?” Connor calls out his name in surprise, as he straightens up and looks over at him.

“You thought it was Gabriel, huh?” Justin surmises, going to the window and opening the shades.

Connor uses his hand to protect his eyes from the light, blinking a few times.

“When did you last do anything other than hide in this room and mourn? Have you even eaten anything lately?” Justin interrogates him, eyeing askance a forgotten tray with a full plate of cold pasta.

Connor gazes up at him. “I’m not hungry.”

Justin watches his friend, noticing he has lost weight since the last time he saw him. “You’re too skinny.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Justin insists, not liking what he sees. “I’m going to make you something to eat,” he announces and goes to the door.

“I’m not hungry,” Connor repeats, annoyed.

“I don’t care,” Justin pauses, giving his friend a pointed stare. “You’re going to eat what I cook, or I will stuff the food into your mouth myself.”

“Kinky,” Connor half jokes, his tone weary.

“Be downstairs in thirty minutes. Dressed and ready,” Justin orders.

“No.”

Justin raises an eyebrow at Connor.

“No,” the brunet says again.

“Okay, you haven’t left me any other choice,” Justin intones as he picks up his phone.

“What are you doing?” Connor inquires with a frown.

“I’m going to call 911 and have you hospitalized,” Justin states.

Connor shakes his head, standing up. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me,” Justin threatens, raising his phone for Connor to see him pressing the numbers nine, one, and one again. His index finger lingers on the ‘press call’ key as he cautions one last time, “Your decision.”

Connor glares at him but eventually caves in with a slight nod, professing, “I hate you.”

“Yeah. That’s the reason you were ready to die to save me,” Justin retorts as he lowers his hand and slides the phone back into his pocket, torn between wanting to strangle his friend and hug him to death and never let him go. He hates seeing him so depressed. Although he understands where Connor is coming from - considering he lived through a similar trauma after he was bashed - he can’t tell him that. Connor needs a kick in the ass, not someone to tell him it’s okay to act this way and abandon everyone he cares about, because it’s not.

So, he picks up the tray of food and steps back to the door. “Open the door,” he demands, glaring at his friend.

Connor holds his gaze.

Justin knows he’s won when the brunet’s eyes soften almost imperceptibly. Connor pushes the door open as the blond reminds him, “Downstairs in thirty minutes. We’ll eat before leaving. And bring a suit.” He leaves the room without waiting for  a reply.

***

The ride to the airport is mainly made in silence, Justin focusing on the road and waiting for Connor to make the first move. The brunet keeps looking out the window, and Justin is too tired to push him to talk. He’s barely slept for the last week because of the trial and can’t think of anything to say. The dashboard clocks blinks 20:07, which means they have time to catch the last flight back to Pittsburgh departing at 22:00.

“How is Gabe?” Connor inquires quietly when Justin takes the airport exit from I-495.

Justin flicks on the wiper blades since rain has started to fall. “He’s wondering what he did wrong, for you to feel the need to move to the other side of the country.”

Connor exhales loudly next to him.

“I never told you I was bashed at my prom, did I?” Justin states, catching his friend’s surprised stare from the corner of his eye.

“ _You_ didn’t…” Connor replies in a low voice. From the way, he stressed ‘you,’ Justin guesses he knows something about it, probably from spying on him for Allen.

“Well then, you’re aware than I spent a week in a coma, a month in rehab, and that my brain was permanently damaged.” Justin continues. “For some time, I was so deeply depressed that I’d have preferred to be dead than to survive. I couldn’t even confide in anyone about how angry I felt, because the people who loved me didn’t want to hear how fucked up I was. The only thing that mattered to them was that I was alive. Nobody cared that I’d rather be dead, or so I thought.”

“And your point is?” Connor inquires, trying to pretend he doesn’t give a shit about Justin’s story.

“My point is,” Justin answers, navigating the car into the airport parking lot for rental cars and pulling into a slot, “I needed help. And…” he kills the ignition and turns to look at Connor, waiting for him to look back at him “…you need help too, so you can deal with your self-loathing and move on.”

Connor barks out a bitter laugh. “You really think it’s that simple? That I don’t want that? That I don’t hate myself for what I’m doing to Gabe? For what I did to all of you?”

“Why do you have to use that fucking argument over and over again?” Justin chastises.

“Because I...” Connor stammers, his face reflecting a sadness that almost makes Justin back down.

But he doesn’t, prompting instead as he cuts the brunet off, “What? See yourself for the person you really are? Someone ready to give his life for his friends and the man he loves? Who did everything he could to protect Brian’s secret? To protect me and Gabe?” Justin argues. “If I can see it, why can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor responds agitatedly, quickly losing his cool.

And yet, it doesn’t stop Justin, as he pushes, “Why do you have to hate yourself so much?”

“I don’t know!” Connor finally yells, shouting the words into Justin’s face so loudly that the blond leans back in his seat. “Maybe because my father fucking died in a car accident because of me? Or because my mother consequently had to raise me alone and bear with her insufferable, arrogant prick of a son, while believing the father of her only child had abandoned her? Hell, even my own brother hates my guts. And the only man I ever loved was almost killed because of it! Don’t you get it?” he spits out.

To say that Justin is flabbergasted by Connor’s outburst would be a huge understatement. From the look on the brunet’s face, he isn’t the only one. Realizing what he has done, Connor lowers his head, nervously rubbing his face, bewildered to have lost his temper. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths in an effort to compose himself.

“You feel any better?” Justin questions somewhat playfully when Connor looks up at him.

“No,” Connor snorts. “But I confirm what I said earlier; I hate you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m fucking pathetic,” Connor states, still shocked by what he said. “Reduced to blaming my dysfunctional family like a mere mortal. Soon I’ll tell you that I need a shrink.”

“I could have told you that the first time we met.” Justin half jokes.

“I’m scared shitless of seeing _him_ ,” Connor discloses unexpectedly, his face turning somber as he opens up and admits how he really feels about his half-brother. “No matter how hard I try to understand how my _brother_ could wish me dead, preferably in a slowly and excruciatingly painful way, I can’t.”

“Is that why you didn’t show up at the trial?” Justin inquires, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s forearm.

Connor shrugs in response, but he covers Justin’s hand with his own.

***

Before embarking, Justin texts Brian to let him know he has found Connor, assessing that his friend is in no condition to deal with anything other than the trial, and asking Brian to keep Gabriel away for the time being.

They take a cab from the airport after they land, arriving at his and Brian’s apartment past midnight. Everything is quiet, the large living room plunged into darkness. Justin verifies Brian isn’t there, leaving Connor to take in the view of the city through the large windows. Going to the room at the end of the corridor, he peers inside and notices the unmade bed.

He closes the door, retraces his steps, and calls out for Connor, muttering, “This way,” when the brunet appears and motioning for his friend to follow him into Gus’s room. On the way there, he stops at the linen cupboard and retrieves clean sheets and a bath towel. He then enters the room, turning on the light on the small desk near the door. Without a word, he starts changing the sheets on the twin bed, Connor silently helping him. Once the bed is made, Justin places the towel on it. “The bathroom is down the hall,” he informs him, peering up at the brunet. “Get some sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow morning.”

He leaves his friend in Gus’s room and heads toward the bathroom. Divesting himself of his clothes, he steps into the shower stall and lets the water run onto his body for a long time. After drying off, he brushes his teeth and tiptoes to Gus’s room, only a towel around his hips, to check on Connor. He opens the door as quietly as possible and peers at his immobile friend lying on the bed, still fully dressed. He hesitates but decides not to enter, slowly closing the door behind himself.

He texts Brian as soon as he lies down on his bed. His phone buzzes a few seconds later.

“Hey,” he greets his partner in a low voice.

“How is he?”

“He’s… not so good. But he’s here anyway,” Justin responds. “Where are you?”

“At Michael’s,” Brian answers, grunting as he adds, “on their short, fucking uncomfortable couch with the broken spring.”

“Gabriel is with you?”

“Yes. In Hunter’s room. He’s pissed at me.” Brian reveals, which isn’t surprising since Justin is sure the blond wanted to see Connor as soon as they landed.

He’s grateful Brian managed to talk him out of turning up at the airport. “I miss you.”

“You’ve only been away for…” Brian pauses, probably checking the time, “...ten hours.”

“But I do,” Justin breathes out. “The bed's too big without you.”

“You’re so cheesy,” Brian mocks him, though the tone of his voice suggests he misses Justin too. “You think he’s up to testifying?”

Justin sighs. “He’s terrified of seeing Gavin Allen again, even though he tries to pretend he’s not.”

“He told you that?” Brian questions, surprised.

“Yeah…” Justin replies. “I wish I could help him.”

“You _are_ helping him,” Brian counters.

“Let’s hope confronting his brother won’t be a mistake, though it’s not like we have a choice,” Justin muses out loud. “How is Gabriel?”

“I almost had to tie him up to stop him from haring off to the airport,” Brian volunteers.

“I bet,” Justin responds, rubbing his eyes. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah… you?”

“I want the trial to be over and done with,” Justin answers with a yawn.

“You and me both,” Brian replies. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Hmm...” Justin half agrees, letting a moment pass with neither of them saying anything. He hears Brian breathing through the phone, the sound comforting him as his eyes begin to shut. “Brian?”

“Yeah…” his partner responds in a sleepy voice.

“I love you.”

He listens to the subtle alteration in Brian’s wheezing as he utters the words. After a few seconds, his voice only a whisper, the brunet murmurs tenderly, “Get some sleep.”

Justin falls asleep listening to his partner’s breathing even out, a small smile playing over his lips.

***

**_The next day, Downtown federal courthouse_ **

Connor looks down as he advances to the front of the courtroom, ignoring his friends’ piercing stares, and his brother sitting at the table for the defense. He marches to the witness stand, accepts a Bible from the registrar, and swears to tell ‘the whole truth and nothing but the truth’ before taking a seat.

The prosecutor prepped him that morning, so when he questions him, Connor responds with curt answers, mainly yes or no. It’s unreal being here, to condemn a brother he didn’t know he had until the night the FBI agent tried to kill him.

“What did you feel when Mr. Allen revealed he was your brother?” the prosecutor interrogates him. Connor has no idea where he wants to go with this line of questioning, and he doesn’t find an answer right away. The room is awfully quiet, everyone waiting for him to disclose something he has trouble understanding himself.

“How would you feel if you realized the man who had blackmailed you for years was your brother and wanted you dead, because he decided it was easier to blame you for his father’s transgressions rather than face the man who had abandoned him?” Connor eventually responds, acknowledging Gavin for the first time.

He stares at his brother, whose face is as cold as the last time he saw him in that forest, and realizes that nothing he can say will ever erase the hatred Gavin feels toward him.

“You know the worst part?” Connor inquires, looking at his brother and vaguely hearing the judge’s voice telling him not to address Mr. Allen directly. “I always dreamed of having a brother.”

Gavin glares at him, and if not for his attorney whispering in his ear while gripping his arm firmly, Connor is sure he would say something. He doesn’t though, merely leaning back in his chair and giving his half-brother a malicious glare.

It doesn’t stop Connor from declaring, “But I have none. You’re a monster who will spend the rest of his life rotting in jail, and I’m glad.” He hears the judge tapping his gavel against the bench, chastising him with a “Mr. Decunn,” but he continues, "No, I’m _thrilled_ to know I won.”

“You fucking shit,” Gavin sneers from his chair. Connor smirks, knowing Gavin is seething.

The sound of the gavel hitting the bench again reverberates throughout the courtroom. “Mr. Decunn, if you keep baiting the defendant, I’ll cite you for obstruction of justice. Are we clear?” the judge warns in a low voice, giving him a stern look.

Connor gazes at his brother, frowning when he thinks he discerns a hint of regret in his eyes. Glancing away toward the row where his friends are seated, he stares at them, realizing he doesn’t know most of the people sitting next to Brian and Justin. His eyes find Gabriel’s, the man nodding at him in support, mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

Connor’s eyes soften just as the prosecutor - with the judge’s permission - comes to stand in front of him and chastises him quietly, asking him to tone it down and follow their initial plan. Redirecting his gaze to the attorney, the brunet nods curtly, acknowledging he’s ready for the next question.

He doesn’t know it yet, but the trial will end two weeks and four days after his testimony, many other witnesses - including Brian, Justin, Michael Novotny, Carl Horvath, and Jacquie Bennett - taking the stand and adding irrefutable evidence  regarding Harry Malone’s criminal network. Their testimony will lead to a historical verdict in the prosecution of organized crime in America, when Gavin Allen, former FBI agent, is sentenced to four consecutive life sentences.

***

But the trial isn’t over yet. During the cross-examination by the defense, Gavin’s lawyer tried to trip him up, using Connor’s low self-esteem against him; however, he underestimated Connor’s intelligence, the brunet refusing to let his emotions overtake him. He responded calmly and clearly, the sour expression on Gavin’s face proof that he was getting the better of his brother.

Now, as Connor exits the courtroom, Gabriel stands up from his seat in the third row and hurries after him. He sees Connor striding to the vending machines and halting in front of them, sliding some coins into the slot. The brunet ignores Gabriel and selects an espresso when the blond pauses next to him. After his coffee has been dispensed, he selects a hot chocolate, handing it to the blond without a word. He then leaves the building. Gabriel follows him outside, halting next to him at the top of the stairs to the courthouse, observing the pedestrians hurriedly coming and going down the sidewalk.

Connor is the first to speak. “I truly meant what I said about having a brother.” He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze still focused on the busy street.

“I know,” Gabriel interjects, “though you had one growing up.”

Connor snorts. “You were a pain in my ass.”

“The best kind. Good thing I’m not actually your brother, or I wouldn’t be able to do this,” he intones, stepping closer and raising his hand to Connor’s neck, stopping briefly just before his lips touch the brunet’s. When they do, he sighs, though he doesn’t deepen the kiss. He leans back and demands, “Don’t ever run away from me again.”

Connor looks into the blond’s eyes, a remorseful expression on his face. He nods slightly, pursing his lips as he gazes away and professes, “I’m sorry.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows, not really convinced by Connor’s apology, although he doesn't care. “I resigned,” he discloses, amused by the look of bewilderment on the brunet’s face at his announcement. “Though I can’t apply for any jobs since my partner failed to tell me where I’m supposed to go.”

“Your partner, huh?” Connor echoes, his eyes reflecting how moved he really is.

“Yes, my partner,” Gabriel repeats, covering his lips again, though this time, Connor lets his half-empty cup of coffee fall to the floor, laces his fingers through the blond’s hair, and kisses him back wholeheartedly.  
  
  



	29. Epilogue

**_May 2011_ **

If anyone had ever said to Brian that he would be in a committed relationship by the time he hit forty and that he wouldn’t even complain about it, he would have had a good laugh and told whoever was crazy enough to make that assumption to fuck off. The idea of a home was a ludicrous notion for most of his life, mainly because of his upbringing in a loveless one, where he witnessed two people supposedly committed to each other letting resentment and lost illusions destroy any joy in their marriage. No wonder Brian grew up thinking that exchanging vows was a sham.

However, life found an unsubtle way of showing him that whatever bullshit he fervently believed in was just that, bullshit. It was easy to defend a point when nothing disturbed his daily life and karma let him be. Claiming to be a heartless bastard who only thought about himself - some people would debate it was mostly about his dick - could only take him so far. One encounter in Stockwell’s office had been all it had taken to change the game.

He was in hell for many years, and now that it’s over, he realizes he’s never been this happy, although he is half-surprised to be. He never thought he would accept and embrace everything that came with that.

“What are you thinking about?” Justin mumbles against his chest and starts peppering him with kisses.

Brian moves his head up, raising one eyebrow as he realizes Justin is awake. They are in the middle of a fuckfest, and Brian is already anticipating round three, though he pretty much passed out twenty minutes ago after Justin rode him to orgasm.

“I’m thinking about sex,” Brian responds impishly, caressing the blond’s hair until Justin stops his ministrations and lies next to him.

“Shocking.”

Brian’s lips turn upward. He props himself on his elbow and gazes down at his partner. “You’re one of the best fucks I’ve ever had, you know.”

Justin bursts out laughing before pushing Brian onto his back and climbing onto him. “Fuck you!”

Brian chuckles at Justin’s outraged expression and lets the blond pin his hands to the bed. He rolls his lips into his mouth, teasing, “What? It’s a huge compliment coming from me.”

“Yeah?” Justin breathes out and leans in, until his lips are almost touching Brian’s.

Brian tries to cover Justin’s mouth, but the blond leans back. Tongue in cheek, he responds huskily, “Yeah…”

He and Justin are in a very good place. After the trial, they resumed their lives in the Pitts, only to discover that while they wanted to be close to their family - especially Gus for Brian - they also wanted other things. It has been eighteen months since they returned, and Justin is starting to gain a reputation as a graphic animator but is nowhere near famous yet, while Brian has tried to make a living as a photographer in a city filled with competition. Most of the time, he feels more like a curiosity than anything else - pictures of him and Malone being splashed all over the news. He should be grateful that he can work in the first place, but photographing men in underwear or models in swimsuits produces little satisfaction, except for giving him boners.

Speaking of which, he can feel one rising up at this very moment. “So, I was thinking…” he breathes out when Justin releases his grip on his wrists and lets his fingers roam down Brian’s arms, leaning down to graze the skin of the brunet’s neck with his lips. Brian’s voice is a little raspy as he resumes, “...of celebrating my fortieth birthday.”

Justin’s lips suddenly still, which makes Brian inwardly laugh. He purses his lips to suppress the smile threatening to spread across his face as the blond raises his head to stare at him quizzically.

“That…” Justin trails off, obviously trying to come up with a rational reply, though he fails to find one.

“Come on Sunshine, it will be fun,” Brian enthuses, more because he loves fucking with Justin than for any other reason. “I will have a free pass to fuck up for a couple of years after I send our lovely friends their invitations. If that wasn’t enough a reason to convince me, the look on Debbie’s face would be.” He frowns, adding as an afterthought, “Damn, I need to deliver that one in person.”

“They will all think you’ve lost your mind.” Justin verifies, his lips turning upward. “What kind of celebration do you have in mind?”

Brian pushes his crotch against Justin, making him roll his eyes.

“Apart from a sex marathon.”

“Well,” Brian entwines his fingers with Justin’s and steals a brief kiss from his lips. “Since you’re opening that gallery with Connor and Gabe to show off…”

“I’m not showing off,” Justin immediately denies. “Connor practically begged me to take the position.”

Brian raises his eyebrows at that and, of course, Justin pretends to be offended that his partner would doubt his sincerity.

Justin’s voice is way too high as he protests, “He’s been stalking me day in and day out!”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s the only reason you said yes,” Brian counters with a smirk, amused by his partner’s antics. “Good thing Gabriel will be there to help, or I would have lost you to Long Island.”

“No way,” Justin objects. “I’d never have agreed to go if it meant moving out there and leaving you here.”

Brian knows that Justin is speaking the truth. He also knows that they won’t move out of Pittsburgh in the foreseeable future, at least not permanently. Gus couldn’t handle his father leaving him again. Furthermore, being close to his friends while he moves on and puts the past behind him is important for him. As important as having Justin in his life.

He could let him go now that they’re safe, theoretically anyway. Every time he thinks about the blond leaving him - when he’s had too much to drink and has nothing better to do with his time than mull over things he’d prefer never to contemplate, he pours and downs another glass, until his mind is filled with even crazier notions.

Like the possibility of barebacking since he hasn’t fucked around for two years, and hasn’t been with anyone but Justin for almost as long.

Or that weird constriction in his chest anytime Justin tells him _I love you_. That’s pretty much what he feels right now, so he gives his partner a soft smile when the blond claims he will never leave him, yet covers his inner display of sentimentality with a sarcastic, “And now we have to divide our time between Pittsburgh and Long Island.”

“Oh, come on.” Justin doesn’t buy Brian’s faked annoyance for a moment. “I know Gabriel offered you the opportunity to be a teacher there.”

That again is true. When Gabriel moved to Long Island after Connor had finally stopped acting like a martyr, he pretty much had to go door to door to find a suitable job. Gallery managers’ positions weren’t exactly common in the classifieds, but he was offered a position as art teacher at a nearby school for teenagers with special needs. Connor pushed him to accept, volunteering to assist him since he had nothing better to do with his time, claiming that the blond would be phenomenal at the job with him by his side.

Even though Gabriel feared he and Connor would end up killing each other, he convinced the dean to accept his proposal to bring the brunet aboard.

Four months after having accepted the position, he realized two things. Firstly, he hated not being his own boss. For all his easiness in interacting with people and his good nature, he wasn’t that good at following a program, especially when said program was related to one of his passions, and was sometimes too rigid to help teenagers who were having a hard enough time living within the world. Secondly, he liked to teach, but amazingly, he wasn’t the one who succeeded in connecting with the most reluctant and closed-off students. Gabriel was sometimes at a loss as to how to behave around people who acted up, but Connor always found a way to communicate which, while astonishing, was also not all that surprising. Connor had always been scared of the world, convinced he didn’t fit, and could therefore relate to the kids better than anyone else.

Gabriel understood quickly what he wanted for the future. He worked his ass off, running and fighting with banks and the local bureaucracy, his perseverance allowing him to put his plan in motion.

He will officially launch the Renaissance Gallery in a week. The place will offer various exhibits and provide art therapy, which means that Brian, Justin, and Connor will help out.

A couple of months ago, during a visit to Pittsburgh, Gabriel asked Justin to manage the gallery with him - part-time, knowing Justin needs time to work on his commissions as a graphic animator. He also suggested showing his paintings, paintings he saw at Justin’s new studio. Justin hesitated, but Connor told him that he would be a fool to pass up on an opportunity to spend time with him, and that he should definitely display them since his paintings were worth more than half the crap exhibited throughout America. Though when Justin asked about the other half, Connor smirked, responding that having room for improvement was a good thing.

Brian accepted Gabriel’s proposal to lead an art therapy class in photography and will spend about five months a year on Long Island with Justin. They will spend the rest of the year in Pittsburgh, Justin helping to manage the gallery from a distance with Gabriel onsite.

Before accepting the position, though, Brian asked Gus for his blessing, offering to take him to Long Island for a month every summer, and promising to come back to the Pitts at least twice a month whenever he was working on Long Island. His son agreed.

That’s why they need to be up at five tomorrow morning, ready to take off. The opening - which is coincidentally happening on Brian’s fortieth birthday - is scheduled for the following week, and they plan to stay for the next couple of months, with Gus joining them at the beginning of July. Brian can barely suppress his glee at the prospect of working with Connor - his friend heading the art therapy department. Brian is still quite puzzled that the former artist thinks he is a great candidate to teach troubled kids.

“I’m sure Gabe offered me a job so I’ll keep an eye on Connor,” he eventually muses out loud, partly because it’s true and partly because he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Connor is the one who suggested that Brian assist him. Why on earth Connor thinks they won’t kill each other, he has no idea, though Gabriel was strangely happy to agree to the request. “You’d think that after having spent days and nights together for months, he would have calmed down a bit and let the man breathe for five seconds.”

“Well, if I were in Gabriel’s shoes, I’d never leave Connor’s side again either,” Justin observes.

Brian snorts. Justin and Gabriel are much alike in many ways.

“And you’re selling yourself short.” Justin continues, caressing Brian’s hair. “Gabriel wants you because you’re one hell of a photographer, and passing your expertise on to those kids will be good for the gallery.”

Brian chuckles at Justin’s explanation, especially because it sounds a lot dirtier than it is. Fuck, he is horny. “And he is my friend. Which means he has that perfectly fucked-up notion that he owes me something,” he quips. His lips turn upward as he playfully leans forward to nip at Justin’s skin. “Luckily for him, as you pointed out... I’m one hell of a photographer, which will undoubtedly help me with my students since I’m well known for... my fabulous social skills.”

“Yeah…” It’s unclear if Justin ignores Brian’s sarcastic tone on purpose or not. His focus is not the best because Brian has started to lick his skin and caress his ass.

“About my birthday,” Brian whispers in his ear, before kissing his neck, his jaw, and his cheek, moving his body more firmly against the blond’s. “What about flying everyone in for the opening next week?”

“I’m…” Justin stammers, because Brian’s adding pressure to their already firm cocks by pushing their hips together. “Yeah?” he responds absentmindedly.

“Now,” Brian caresses Justin’s side until his hand finds the blond’s cock, “let’s focus on more pleasurable activities.”

Justin mumbles his agreement as the brunet gives him a squeeze, before claiming his lips.

***

**_One week later, Long Island_ **

“You’re ready?” Brian inquires, standing on the other side of Gabriel’s desk, the blond looking like he has never been this nervous in his life.

“I want to throw up,” Gabriel answers, confirming his impression.

“Chill out, man,” Connor intones as he strides into the office through the door leading to the main room and walks toward his partner. Not bothering to acknowledge Brian, he plants himself in front of Gabriel, grabs his neck and forces their lips together. By the time they come up for air, Gabriel’s face is a little flushed.

“What was that for?” he questions with that soft voice Brian recognizes as stemming from a temporary brain failure. He should know; Justin uses it often enough.

“To take the pressure off,” Connor volunteers, suppressing a smirk.

“Don’t release the pressure just yet,” Brian quips, not keen on witnessing his friends going at it with each other. He heads for the door and warns, “Be quick. We open the front door in ten.”

The look on Gabriel’s face is priceless. “I’m not gonna…” he attempts to say, but Connor shuts him off with another kiss, and Brian finds it wise to escape while he can.

“Ten minutes!” he shouts as he closes the door with a small laugh, scanning the room to make sure no one is paying attention. As he does, he notices Justin talking to Michael, the brunet having come the day before to help them with the final preparations. He strolls over to them, noticing the quizzical look on Justin’s face as he stares toward Gabriel’s office.

“Yep. They’re fucking,” Brian confirms Justin’s assumption as he wraps his arms around the blond’s shoulders.

Michael giggles. “Gabriel looked like he was going to faint when we changed in his office earlier.”

“And Connor is on a mission to make him relax before the grand opening,” Justin snorts. At Brian’s stare, he clarifies, “I think it’s a good idea.”

Brian pretends to think it through. “I’m really stressed too.”

“Nice try,” Michael grins at Brian’s repartee. “But there is no time for you two to sneak out now. Everybody is going to be there in about two minutes.”

“Too bad.” Brian shrugs nonchalantly. He doesn’t want to show how important this is for him that everybody agreed to come. Though by the looks of it, Michael isn’t fooled. Neither is Justin. “What?” he barks at them when they give him synchronized grins as if they’re conspiring against him or something.

“You’re forty,” Michael declares smugly.

“And…?” Brian raises an eyebrow, silently daring his friend to elaborate. When Michael doesn’t add anything, he drawls, “At  least this time, I won’t end up in a coffin.” and gives the brunet a false smile of his own.

Justin chuckles, gazing at Michael as he remembers Brian’s reaction at his thirtieth birthday party. It seems like a lifetime ago. “That was creepy,”

“Yeah, well…” Michael seems embarrassed enough. “We were young and… God, it really was a bad joke.”

“And now, I’m celebrating turning _old_. I’ve aged well, don’t you think?” Brian quips, placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Come on, Mikey. I need you to greet our guests.”

“I’m not even working for the gallery,” Michael protests, though the small grin on his  lips gives him away.

“No, but you love me,” Brian drawls in the brunet’s ear, “and it’s my birthday.”

Michael raises his hand to squeeze Brian’s arm, murmuring, “Yeah... I love you,”

As he pronounces the words, Gus appears outside, running up to the glassed entrance, closely followed by Lindsay, Carl, Debbie, Melanie, Ted, Blake, and Emmett. They halt at the doors, chatting or laughing, and it’s kind of surreal for Brian to see them all standing together on the sidewalk, acting so ebullient. Ted and Mel smile at each other, talking like two old friends. Debbie is giving them a fond look while Carl holds her hand, Lindsay straightening Gus’s shirt next to them, the boy impatiently pushing her hand away from him. Meanwhile, Blake and Emmett are looking around while chatting away, probably checking out the neighborhood. Blake says something that makes Emmett burst out laughing, his face lightening as if he is having the best time ever, just as Hunter and Ben join them.

Brian gazes over at them, rolling his lips into his mouth. It hits him hard sometimes, to see what he lost and then found again, to realize how much these people mean to him. He usually doesn’t even pretend to hate the sentimentality that comes with being part of their world anymore, but if he occasionally does, it’s more for old time’s sake than for anything else. He knows he doesn’t fool anyone, and he’s fine with it.

Debbie smiles broadly when their eyes met, as she pushes past everyone and tries to open the gallery’s front door. Realizing it’s locked, she directs her gaze at Brian with a raised eyebrow, gesturing with her hand at the handle and silently questioning what Michael, Justin, and Brian are waiting for.

Amused, Brian pushes Michael away and toward the door, but he doesn’t move. He grabs Justin’s hand and pulls him close instead.

Justin giggles when Brian kisses him playfully, hearing enthusiastic voices immediately fill the space around them as Michael unlocks the door and lets everybody in.

“Stop it!” Debbie is, of course, the first to interrupt them.

Just like the good old days.

THE END

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my amazing beta Karynn, for her kindness, her support and love... She’s made me pull my hair off quite often LOL but that’s the sign of a great beta. And the plot wouldn’t have been the same without her help, so it’s her story, too :)
> 
> To every reader and particularly Sandi, Laura, Laura, Marie-France, Marilynne, Jennifer, Trish, Susie, Phyllis, Kim, Kim, Sherry, Gloria, Cricri, Lisa, Saje, and everyone else who has supported me for the past year, thank you so much. I couldn’t have finished this without you guys <3
> 
>  
> 
> And thank you for reading :D <3

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve created a FB group to interact with the readers of my stories. If you’re interested in joining me, contact me via my name - Alois Dfr - or directly in the group «  Queer as Folk - Alois fanfiction ».
> 
> My eternal gratitude to my beta Karynn.
> 
> Kudos and/or reviews are very appreciated. Thank you :)


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